


Harem of the Sith

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin was Qui-Gon's Padawan, But Implied Past Elements of Grooming, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Everyone Is Miserable But Obi-Wan's Determined to Have Sex Along the Way, Everyone Starts Out Alive, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Dubcon, M/M, Multi, No Rule of Two, No underage, Non-Graphic Noncon, Other, Sex Slave Obi-Wan, Sith AU, So Many Many Sith, Suitless Vader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-06-16 02:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15426816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: So many Sith exist, and they all have access to one fancy safehouse, with its pampered bed slave. Loyal, discrete, but not deemed quite powerful enough to apprentice, Obi-Wan has made the best of his circumstances and takes considerable pleasure wherever he can find it.Fleeing in the wake of a failed takeover & Order 66, disowned by Padmé and divorced, Anakin has no idea what he's just gotten himself into.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that is getting ickier the more we go. I fully expect some will have to leave in the middle chapters and not finish it, so just know ahead of time that's okay. If you're healthier reading something else, please, take care of yourselves. I cannot at this time tag for all of the awfulness to come because it hasn't occurred on page yet, but I do fully expect it to only get darker and darker as it continues.
> 
> I didn't want to clutter up the ship tags, but here are the ones I know as of now (posting the first chapter, having written through chapter 7) will be involved.
> 
> Please keep in mind MORE MIGHT HAPPEN LATER THAT JUST HAVEN'T BEEN FORESEEN BY ME.
> 
> The For-Sures Are:
> 
> Sidious/Obi-Wan  
> Dooku/Obi-Wan  
> Maul/Obi-Wan  
> Savage/Obi-Wan  
> Ventress/Obi-Wan  
> Other Nightsisters/Obi-Wan  
> Xanatos/Obi-Wan  
> Bruck/Obi-Wan  
> Barriss/Obi-Wan (Sith Barriss, mind you)  
> Plagueis/Obi-Wan  
> Snoke/Obi-Wan (Younger Snoke!)  
> Various Inquisitors/Obi-Wan  
> Krell/Obi-Wan  
> Guests of the Sith, including Tarkin, Sifo-Dyas, possibly Jango and others/Obi-Wan  
> Mace/Obi-Wan (Before Dooku Came Out Sith, Mace was a Guest at Serenno for a Time)  
> Possibly Vader/Obi-Wan, as of now (7 chapters written) I don't actually know yet.
> 
> If you're asking right now “what the hell is this????” It's a good question. I sure as frip don't know. But lascivious, bitter Obi-Wan is fun to write. Seven chapters happened quick. And I almost actually like Dooku in this story, which is hugely unusual for me.
> 
> There is backstory of a couple of teenagers exploring one another, but it's offscreen and in the past, and will only be mentioned by one of the characters in passing, so I'm not marking it as underage.
> 
> There will be violence, and blood, and compromises, and quite possibly death, and characters overlooking past offenses against them for current gains/to make life livable, and this will be ugly, vicious, cruel. This Vader was fed a romanticized view of the dark side and the self-worship it entails, so the reality he walks into is a hell of a lot more... self-centered and banal than he expected.
> 
> He really just wants to go home.

 

When Palpatine had warned Anakin Skywalker they would have to go into hiding, this is _not_ what the newly-christened Sith Lord had expected.

Perina was a lovely, temperate world, and the  _safe house?_

A fripping mansion with sprawling grounds, open glass doors that led out directly into the spectacular gardens, some severely formal, others feigning a gentle wildness that had to be carefully groomed.

Hell, it looked even more spectacular than  _Padmé's_ lake house on Naboo.

But thinking of that sent Anakin into a mood.

Padmé. On Coruscant, with  _their_ children, and armed with a divorce and restraining order.

Oh. And the warrant for his arrest, for the attempted overthrow of the Republic, treason, attempted genocide, and other things. A lot of other things.

Anakin had just lifted his knuckles to rap at the front door when that door slid aside, and he found himself greeted.

_Not_ by Palpatine, but by a man who looked a couple years older than Anakin himself, clean-shaven, clad in a tailored black fabric that drew attention to his shoulders and hips.

He looked Anakin in the eye and smiled, showing teeth and beautiful gray eyes.

But Anakin couldn't take his attention off the quiet black band around his throat, or the fact that the shirt's neckline left pale skin visible beneath the collar, making it stand out. Something that couldn't be overlooked, almost loud in its simplicity.

Anakin's throat went dry.

“Lord Vader,” the slave purred, sounding cheerful and speculative all in one. “Right this way, if you please.”

Anakin stepped inside and felt the door close behind him, his stomach flipping over.

Palpatine wasn't... he didn't own  _slaves,_ did he?

Especially after he'd seen what it had done to Anakin and his mother?

“Lord Sidious is in the library. The nonlethal one.” An amused glint lurked sly in the slave's eyes. “Would you like to join him immediately, or rid yourself of the dust of the road?”

Anakin tore his eyes away from the collar. “A shower would be nice.”

He didn't need one, but he had to corral some of his thoughts before he could face Palpatine.

After all...

Palpatine was all he had left, with the attempt at forming an Empire having failed, and Qui-Gon and Ahsoka...

Well...

Anakin's former master and his... former... padawan didn't take kindly to the fact that he'd intended to slaughter the entire Jedi Order, them included, if that's what it took to save Padmé.

_What counts is she's alive._

Maybe she would never be happy to see him again, maybe she would try forever to keep him away from their children...

_But she's alive._

And she wouldn't be, if Anakin hadn't done what he did.

The slave was leading him up a truly ridiculous curve of stairs that looked like marble to Anakin's eye.

“So... you wear a collar.” Somehow, both a question and a threat lurked in Anakin's tone. He hadn't meant to sound aggressive. If this man was kept in slavery, it was hardly  _the victim's_ fault.

A sly, happy smile lit the man's face again. “I am the harem of the Sith.”

“ _A_ harem? I didn't think the word worked like that. Isn't a harem a  _collection_ of people?”

The man chuckled. “It would be, if it were a collection. As it is, I am the crowning jewel, and the  _only_ one, though I know occasionally Savage frips the assistant gardener. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I am very much at your service.”

“I don't frip slaves,” was Anakin's automatic reply.

Obi-Wan sent him an arched eyebrow. “I find that disappointing, for the both of us. Fortunately Maul will be home soon; if I cannot have your cock I shall certainly have his.”

Anakin nearly choked on his own spit.

Shaken and entirely confused, he felt grateful when Obi-Wan opened a door to a room, bowed, and sashayed away.

Anakin closed the door behind him, placed his back to it, and squeezed his eyes shut.

So.

Going into hiding meant living like a prince on a pristine, near-untouched world.

Palpatine owned a sex-slave. Who apparently served Sith in general.

_So... Maul and Savage, then. And me, if I wanted._

Maybe Obi-Wan didn't belong to  _Palpatine,_ but to  _Maul._

But...

Would that really make it any better?

Anakin heaved a sigh and slid down the door to the floor.

This...

This wasn't at all how he'd pictured life after his desperate scramble to save Padmé.

Not at all.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan returned to the library, and as he entered, Sidious looked up.

“Lord Vader has arrived,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “He is different.”

“He did not immediately fall prey to your charms and take you on the floor?” Sidious asked, looking amused.

“Well,” Obi-Wan drawled, “I was willing to be persuaded to use the bed, if it was a deal breaker.”

Sidious chuckled. “Poor, hungry pet. It might be another hour before Tyranus rejoins us— should I feed you?”

“If it would pleasure my lord,” Obi-Wan murmured, gaze downcast and swept by his lashes.

Sidious liked the affect of a gentle forest prey creature craving the predator.

Obi-Wan liked how each of the Sith he served enjoyed something different. It offered variety.

“It might add interest to this reading,” Sidious decided, beckoning Obi-Wan to his side.

Obi-Wan moved with the grace of a doe, and knelt between Sidious' knees with that same fluidity of movement.

Sidious returned his full attention to the book, his hand only lightly caressing Obi-Wan's head as the harem unfastened the Sith's trousers, and coaxed an erection into being using nuzzling and gentle nibbling.

Even after Obi-Wan had the member in his mouth and had applied his tongue, sucking and stroking and nursing, Obi-Wan's palms resting lightly on Sidious' thighs, the Sith did not respond.

That hand in his hair was still passive, without tension.

Obi-Wan offered up a soft whimper of content, narrowing his attention until nothing in the universe mattered but worshiping this cock. Experiencing its warmth, its texture, its weight, so beautiful, so precious—

Sidious' fingers twitched, and Obi-Wan smiled.

The only noises Sidious ever wanted were soft ones of gratitude, of sated need.

And in this moment, Obi-Wan drained every thought from his head except the  _need_ to suck  _this_ cock.

Sidious thumb rubbed small circles against Obi-Wan's scalp, and oh, it felt nice.

Unless in one of his moods, Sidious was a considerate lover, and highly unlikely to seize Obi-Wan's head and ram himself down his throat.

That being said...

A pleased smile quirked Obi-Wan's rounded lips, and then he angled his head to allow access to his throat, and eased his nose clear up to Sidious' clothing.

Sidious didn't turn the page of the book he held, his gaze not moving from one line to the next anymore. His hand still lay almost passive on Obi-Wan's head, but Obi-Wan felt pleased with his own victory.

He swallowed, pressed his tongue up to the underside of what he held, as close to the root as possible.

Sidious came, silent and still, his hips pushing up just a little from the chair.

Obi-Wan pulled his head back to allow him to nurse the last of it, just as a footstep in the door alerted both that company had arrived.

In spite of sensing Vader's shock and recoil, Obi-Wan finished his ministration, and then gently put Sidious' cock away again as the master greeted his apprentice.

“Ah, Lord Vader. I trust you encountered no difficulty in finding the safe house?”  
The fingers on Obi-Wan's head moved just a bit, a gentle squeeze, a slight burying further into the hair.

He was pleased with Obi-Wan's offering.

While Obi-Wan moved a bit, he settled upright on his knees beside Sidious' leg, turning his attention to a Vader who's face looked as if it might catch fire from his discomfort.

“It was fine,” Vader managed.

“Now, my dear boy, Obi-Wan tells me you did not make use of his services. If it's his consent you're worried about, I can assure you, Obi-Wan is as hungry a soul as any I have ever seen, and even without trying, you must be able to sense his lust for you in the Force.”

Just to leave no doubt about it, Obi-Wan fluttered his mental shields lower, allowing peeks of what he would like Vader to do to his body filter through.

Obi-Wan sensed Sidious' amusement, and Vader's flustered embarrassment.

“I'm... rather tired,” was the transparent excuse he mustered up.

Sidious laid aside his book with a smile. “Just as well. Dooku will return from making the gardeners' lives hell with his directions, and will undoubtedly wear Obi-Wan out.”

Obi-Wan smiled at the thought, fairly certain Sidious was correct.

Lord Tyranus would likely have frustration to work through.

Vader turned an awkward shade of green that had Obi-Wan mildly concerned for the safety of the carpeting.

“You look famished. Are you hungry?” Sidious asked, sounding solicitous.

Obi-Wan smiled, knowing that when Sidious addressed such a question to Vader, it meant something  _entirely_ different than when it was addressed to Obi-Wan himself.

With Obi-Wan's shields still thinned, Vader seemed to catch some of that train of thought and turned ghastly pale.

So  _many_ colors in Lord Vader's repertoire!

“Obi-Wan, be a dear pet and show Lord Vader to the dining hall, and see that he is cared for.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Obi-Wan affirmed, uncoiling and moving for the door.

Vader hurriedly stepped out of his way, as if afraid Obi-Wan might brush himself up against him in passing otherwise.

Which, of course, Obi-Wan  _would_ have been sorely tempted to do.

 

* * *

 

“You, ah... serve the old men, that way?” Anakin asked, feeling worse than ever.

Obi-Wan sent him an unimpressed  _look._ “How old do you think me, Lord Vader?”

“Mid twenties?”

“I am nearly forty. And I'll have you know, when Lord Sidious first took me into his bed, he was much younger than he is now. My affections have not  _faded_ with his hair turning from red to gray. What shallow giggler do you take me for? And as for Tyranus, his stamina and physique lack nothin—”

“I do not want to know this,” Vader almost groaned.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Now that you know I was an adult while you ran about in diapers, you find me less attractive.”

“Not at all. But I'm... married.”  _Divorced._

“So is Ventress,” Obi-Wan dismissed. “And both make use of my body. And if it's having once been a Jedi that is the trouble, there are many who find rest here of a similar background. And certain guests of Lord Tyranus still  _are_ part of the Order.”

“And...  _they_ ...?” Anakin asked, startled.

Obi-Wan arched eyebrows at him. “An adult who gives enthusiastic consent? Where would be the issue? And if it's my station that you think would bother them, would not denying me a choice at all be rather counter-productive?”  
“I... hadn't thought about it like that.”

Obi-Wan didn't seem at all perturbed. “I am quite voracious, Lord Vader. And I am happy to be here, and kept by Lord Sidious for the reasons I am here.”

“How  _did_ you end up here? You are Force-sensitive, and you've clearly had training. Jedi, by the feel of it.”

“You were the padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn. Do you not know?”

Anakin felt confused. “What does that have to do with it?”

“Everything,” Obi-Wan murmured, and for the first time, a darkness entered his tone. “Everything.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Obi-Wan would have ensconced Anakin in the austere dining hall while he cooked up something, but Anakin was far more interested in attempting a conversation, so he followed the slave into the kitchen instead.

Obi-Wan didn't seem too perturbed by the change of program.

“You said you've slept with Jedi,” Anakin prompted. “Were they... any good?”

Obi-Wan sent him a mischievous look. “One,  _especially_ good. I played host to Master Windu, though not here, of course. Lord Sidious loaned me to Dooku for a time, to make Serenno a bit less... forbidding. That was an enjoyable time, though I was glad when I was returned home.”

“ _Windu_ ?” Anakin asked, skeptical.

Obi-Wan's eyes went just a little dreamy. “Mm,” he simply replied, pulling out ingredients from a cupboard.

“You're just... willing. For all the Sith, and all their guests? They wouldn't have taken you against your will?”

Obi-Wan looked a little surprised by the question. “I wouldn't know what they would do  _without_ participation. I am curious by nature, in regards to sex. I like encountering new people. But... there is one I don't like.” He made a face. “Krell is... cruel. I am far less likely to enjoy time spent in his company. But that doesn't mean I refuse him.”

“ _Krell,_ ” Anakin spat, his hackles rising, every muscle in his body going tense. “ _Krell_ comes here?”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan sent him a glance from beneath long eyelashes. “I heard he played some rather vicious games with your troopers when you still held rank, and the two of you had a bit of a falling out.”

Anakin clenched his fist, and the dishes rattled through the kitchen, and Obi-Wan's eyes flew wide as his mouth opened to gasp in air.

Anakin immediately eased his gesture, mildly horrified. He hadn't  _meant_ to choke the slave, he  _certainly_ hadn't meant—

Obi-Wan turned grim eyes to him. “I see you're that sort, then.”

“What sort?”

“The sort who might strangle me if I didn't please in the bedroom.” Obi-Wan swept into a pantry and the door slammed shut in Anakin's face.

“No, Obi-Wan, I—”

But Obi-Wan wasn't listening. At all.

So Anakin retreated to the dining hall and sat at the long table and rested his head in his hands.

_Padmé's afraid of me._ So was Ahsoka.

_I tried to kill only one of them._

And he hadn't actually taken a  _saber_ to Ahsoka. And the fact he hadn't panicked about the clones, well, that was because he  _trusted_ her to survive. And...

But Anakin turned away from trying to figure out what he'd been thinking.

Inventing reasons after the fact, when they were only ever to be heard in the echoes of his brain, seemed rather pointless.

 

* * *

 

Much to Obi-Wan's surprised delight, someone arrived even sooner than Tyranus' expected return.

A streak of red and black launched for him, tackling him to the floor of the entry hall. He'd slipped out here to try to sort through his annoyances while dinner cooked.

And now he was on the floor on his back, ravishing the mouth of the most beautiful of zabrak men. Obi-Wan's heels snapped up to lock around him, to cling tight to him—

“Are you  _ready_ for me? Beautiful whore-mate?” Maul murmured, that delicious voice of his—

“Yes,” Obi-Wan panted, even if it had been for  _Dooku_ that he'd cleaned and stretched.

Maul wrenched down everything that stood between him and the skin of Obi-Wan's ass, growling and biting at Obi-Wan's neck the while.

Obi-Wan grinned and bit and growled back.

Maul didn't like  _moans,_ he didn't like  _whimpers,_ and he didn't like  _groans._

And while he wanted submission from Obi-Wan, his upbringing had taught him to resent anything that even  _looked_ like delicacy. Submission, with  _claws._

Maul freed his cock and plunged up to the hilt into Obi-Wan's ass, and Obi-Wan rasped a hiss in the back of his throat, a guttural noise that had Maul freezing for a moment, and then fripping into him with an intensity that scooted Obi-Wan across the slick floor.

Obi-Wan laughed, delighted to have him back, here, now,  _in—_

A pair of graceful boots walked by— Ventress', and then a pair of feet that nearly shook the floor with their weight— Savage.

Someone else crouched nearby, blue eyes watching with their cool lack of emotion.

Obi-Wan sent him a grin, and Xanatos' lip twitched into a semi-friendly smirk before he rose in a graceful movement and passed on down the hall.

Maul spilled within Obi-Wan, a rush of hot fluid that stained Obi-Wan's insides with a zabrak's weight.

Sated for the moment, Maul brushed a thumb over Obi-Wan's kiss-swollen lips, and then pulled out of him.

 

* * *

 

Anakin stood frozen in the doorway, unable to decide if he should interfere, or just  _wait._ Noises of a scuffle had drawn him here, but seeing  _Maul_ balls-deep in Obi-Wan hadn't exactly been what he expected.

The Force didn't scream or twist, the way it had around unwilling slaves back on Tatooine. This looked rough, maybe a bit painful, and Obi-Wan was skidding across the floor, for Force's sake—

But he didn't seem  _unhappy_ ...

And the other Sith who filtered in didn't seem to think this was anything at all out of the ordinary, for Maul to frip the harem into the floor barely two feet inside the front door, in the presence of  _any_ of them.

The alarmingly beautiful Sith even paused to watch for a few moments.

And then Maul was  _done,_ and pulling out of Obi-Wan, and Anakin could see each of the ridges on the underside of that cock catching at Obi-Wan's rim on the way out.

Obi-Wan convulsed, lost in that visceral sensation.

_What have I gotten myself into?_ Anakin felt himself shiver. 

Maul sauntered away, throwing Anakin a quietly aware look before vanishing down the hall.

For a long moment Obi-Wan lay still, legs parted, catching his breath.

“Are you okay?” Anakin asked, wondering if he needed help.

Obi-Wan rolled his head to the side to look up at him. “Certainly. Just give me a minute, and then I'll pull your dinner out of the oven.”

“I can do that,” Anakin protested, feeling... not well about any of this.

Obi-Wan maneuvered himself to his feet, waddling just a bit as he walked past Anakin into the dining hall again. “If you wanted to set extra places, I wouldn't stop you. We'll have at least eight places.”

“Eight?”

“Oh, Lord Frost will be in shortly. And if you find Lord Maul's savage fripping alarming, you may want to absent yourself when Lord Frost finally puts in his appearance.”

“Why?” Anakin asked, following him to collect dishes. “Is he cruel like Krell? Or does he accidentally Force-choke people?”

Obi-Wan sent him a knowing look that didn't hold as much animosity as Vader had expected.

_Is he simply used to being harmed when a Sith's temper is lost?_

It wasn't a comfortable thought.

“He hated me back when we were both younglings in the Temple, and he is ever so proud of the fact that he is Lord Ire's apprentice, and myself, only a whore.”

“Ire. Is that the black-haired sylph?”

Obi-Wan grinned, as if he found that absurdly funny. “Yes.”

“I'm beginning to realize this underworld of Force users is larger than I first expected.”

“They don't normally all come through at once. I think they're curious about you,” Obi-Wan dismissed. “And Maul may have just been horny.”

Anakin scoffed. “What? He can't convince anyone else to let him stick that thing in?”  
“Oh?” Obi-Wan looked surprised. “No, no. He's mated to me. Happened long ago, when we were both minors in Sidious' charge. Maul was an apprentice as a teenager, I was... well, I was the orphan who was being fed and clothed and taught useful skills.”

Anakin stiffened. “Like how to suck cock?”  
“I was under the impression you respected Sidious,” Obi-Wan replied, surprised.

_And I did. But I'm starting to think I might not know him at all._

“Certainly not,” Obi-Wan continued. “Cooking, cleaning, color-matching, furniture-coordinating, the care of Dooku's precious orchid collection... and education. You'll find mine just as excellent, and most likely more extensive in some cases, than yours. Between Sidious and Dooku, they turned me into an eminently respectable young person.”

“And then you spread your legs for them all.” Anakin felt very suspicious about this tale. It sounded...  _sanitized,_ to his ears.

Obi-Wan sent him a belittling look. “You are very hung up on that. I had gained my adulthood before anything started up, with the exception of myself and Maul. We were the same age, curious and hungry teenagers together. Do you intend to fault us for it?”

He sounded a little bit aggressive, and Anakin lifted his hands in acquiescence. Far be it from him to make claims about what teenagers had any business doing.

_I got married as a teenager._

“Anyway, if a Nightsister hasn't claimed and bonded one of the males, it's the Force that links a mating lock in place. Neither of us asked or looked for it, it just happened.”

“And he's alright with you just giving yourself to others?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “He knows what my place here is. He always has. Didn't you hear his pet name for me? He's incredibly aroused by my station, and he certainly doesn't mind the fact that no Nightsister can seize him and force him into service now. With a bond already in place, he's no longer appealing to them. And Lord Vader? You've not known what it is to be  _filled_ until you take desperate zabrak cock up your ass.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Anakin returned, tone dry.

“Slave,” barked a new voice, and Anakin looked up to find a man who looked to be the age Obi-Wan claimed to be, his hair a blond so viscerally pale it looked near white.

Obi-Wan glanced to Anakin, rolled his eyes. “Lord Frost. We were just whispering about you and giggling.” He sashayed over and sank to his knees.

Frost seized his hair and wrenched his head into his crotch. “Yeah, bitch? Tellin' him how much I  _own_ you, whore?”

_Maul permits this with his mate?_

The blowjob that ensued didn't have a chance to be skilled, or particularly great, since the hutthole Sith basically just fripped down Obi-Wan's throat and held his cock there until Obi-Wan had difficulty in needing to breathe.

Anakin scowled, disliking the display.

Frost yanked out of him, and came all over Obi-Wan's face, apparently not caring that Obi-Wan was in the middle of trying to get  _everyone's dinner_ ready.

When Frost swept out, Obi-Wan chuckled and stood up, wiping the filth from his face and licking his fingers. “He's just sore that I remember the name he had before his Sith name.  _Bruck Chun_ sounds rather ordinary, after all. I am going to go clean up. Would you mind pulling the casserole out of the oven for me? I need to change into something more appropriate for how many people are home.”

Anakin complied, bewildered by how comfortable this slave was with both talking back and acting as an equal... except in regards to sexuality.

Whatever he had assumed  _appropriate_ attire might mean, and he wasn't sure  _what_ he'd been expecting, it certainly wasn't what waltzed back into the kitchen with a cheery, “Thank you, Vader. How is the salad coming?”

A black band of silk sat low around his hips, dipping close to his genitals. A cloth band hung down to cover them, the end weighted with beads that almost looked like drops of blood. In the back, the garment again dipped down, almost revealing the crevice of his ass, and a two-inch wide band hung down farther to “cover” that crevice. It didn't hang quite as low as the one in front, which nearly sank to Obi-Wan's knees. The one in the back just barely reached the base of his ass, so that when he bent over, the curve of his ass cheeks were clearly distinguishable.

Other than this one garment and the collar around his throat, he wore only a single black band around one bicep.

And that was  _it._

Flanks, thighs, calves, shoulders,  _everything_ on display.

“You look uncomfortable,” Obi-Wan sympathized. He swished the back drape out of the way, revealing a well-shaped ass and glistening entrance. “I'm still loose from Maul, if you want a quick one.”

“And make you shower again?” Anakin scoffed, needing  _some_ excuse—

“Oh, I won't be showering again this evening,” chuckled Obi-Wan. “I just highly doubted anyone wanted Frost's addition to their dinner.”

“I think I'll pass.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, and began to load a tray with the precious little sandwiches he'd been making earlier. “You are an enigma, Lord Vader.”

“I'm straight,” Anakin coughed up.

Obi-Wan chuckled. “So is Bruck.” He lifted the tray to carry it to the table. “There are more reasons to frip than the presence of sexual attraction.”

“I'm not really into sex as a means of humiliation or control or punishment.”  
“And to relieve tension?” Obi-Wan tossed back. “You're tighter wound than a valichord string about ready to snap.”

“I'll pass, thanks,” Anakin replied.

And oh, Force, maybe being on the run out in the filthy edges of the galaxy was better than being here, in this strange, false pretense of civilization with such an alarming core of...  _whatever_ this was.

But then the Sith were filtering in to the dining hall, speaking and chuckling and smiling, and Obi-Wan flitted about like some fair creature of myth, and there was a bizarre sense of warmth that Anakin found he couldn't just turn his back on.

He missed Padmé. He was lonely.

He had no friends left, since the clones wouldn't even  _look_ at him, now that they knew about the chips.

So he took his place at Sidious' right hand, and watched everything that went on with a careful eye.

Obi-Wan served them, then settled beside the only creature that even came close to rivaling his own beauty within the room. And that cold, frightening beauty, who had seemed rather uninterested in food before, proceeded to finger-feed Obi-Wan in as obscene a way as Anakin had  _ever_ seen.

It was also extremely inefficient, but not only did no one seem to mind, no one seemed to even notice it was out of the ordinary.

Anakin felt almost guilty for being able to eat at all, since he felt so tied up in knots about this whole slave situation, but Obi-Wan's cooking was  _good_ , and Force dammit, but Anakin couldn't just ignore his plate like a distressed damsel from some old holo, gracefully unable to touch even the most delectable of morsels.

So he stewed...

And fell in love with Obi-Wan's cooking at the same time.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings: Aftermath of rape and a beating near the end of this chapter, the actual assault is somewhat sensed through the Force, but not seen. The assault included anal rape with an object (saber hilt).

 

Cleaning up after dinner was interrupted by Maul shoving Obi-Wan into the pantry and the desperate sounds of fripping filtering through the door, accompanied by growls.

This time, Anakin steered clear of it. He sensed no resistance through the Force, so he would just pay attention to the dirty dishes.

Obi-Wan looked dazed as he stumbled out of the pantry, and a truly ridiculous grin couldn't seem to leave his face.

Maul did  _not_ exit the pantry, and every time Obi-Wan went in there to put something away, muffled noises happened for a few seconds, and Obi-Wan would then emerge, flushed and happy, and Anakin didn't want to be the person who wanted to know what was happening...

Except he really  _did_ want to know.

So when Obi-Wan emerged for the seventh time, Anakin quipped, “Not only does your mate have incredible stamina, he is also the fastest I've ever seen.”

Which had Obi-Wan actually laughing. Not a chuckle, not a smirk, but a genuine, hearty laugh that made Anakin feel all funny inside.

“Oh, he's just shoving his fingers up my ass to feel his own come. He wants me pregnant, and even though I've tried telling him, time and again, human males don't work like that, he still chases the dream.”

Anakin's eyebrows shot up. “He forgets?”

“Oh, he knows he can't make me pregnant, but he  _can_ keep me stuffed full of his come.”

Anakin glanced down, saw the light refract off of something on thighs only slightly obscured by the garment. “Are you comfortable? Being soiled like that, and going about your tasks?”

“Oh, it's quite normal, when people are actually home,” Obi-Wan dismissed. “Sidious and Tyranus are very traditional in not wanting fluids everywhere. Tyranus insists on  _only_ having sexual activities in a  _bedroom._ It's adorable, really. Sidious is a little more willing to be flexible, so long as no mess is left over afterwards. And if he's had a bad day, whew, he can plow into me like the best of them. That leaves me avoiding chairs for days.”

He sounded so  _happy._

_Are you really a slut by nature?_

Obi-Wan gathered together the spices he'd used, and slipped back into the pantry.

Another pause, in which Anakin could envision red and black fingers pushing  _up—_

And then Obi-Wan was out again, his gait involving an almost half-skip before he managed to keep walking.

“How bad is Frost? Do you have to put up with him?”

“Oh, Frost thinks he's much worse than he is, thinks I'm all kinds of properly humiliated and despairing, because of his grand heights of achievement and my lowly estate. He has serious issues revolving around prostitutes. He somehow thinks that calling me a  _whore_ and  _bitch_ is anything other than a turn-on.”

Anakin stared at him. “You know he means it as an insult?”

“Oh, I'm aware.”

The pale-skinned Sith stepped into the room, placing a graceful, long-fingered hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. “How long before you can attend me?”

Obi-Wan smiled and glanced around the kitchen. “Five minutes? Then I will be available, should you desire to ravish me.”

The cold lips turned up in a slight smile, ice blue eyes glittered. “I will be waiting in my quarters.”

Once the creature had glided away, Anakin sent Obi-Wan a raised eyebrow. “How about him? Is he cruel?”

Obi-Wan shivered with a soft, delighted grin. “Implacable.”

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan slipped into Xanatos' quarters, and immediately signaled the sound shield up.

The Sith awaited him, naked and kneeling in the transition between refresher and bedroom, the cage locking his cock away from use being the only article he wore.

There was a rather unfortunate ideal among the Sith that part of being warriors and strong was sexual violence, or at least dominance.

But for the prince of Telos, his needs ran along a counter line.

He didn't dare let his fellow Sith know,  _especially_ not his apprentice, and it had been years before he realized he had nothing to fear from Obi-Wan.

“Have you touched yourself while away?” Obi-Wan asked, voice quiet.

The exquisitely carved head shook.

“I suppose you're very tired, from your travels,” Obi-Wan continued, turning as if to leave. “I hope your rest is deep and dreamless.”

“Please,” whispered Xanatos, his voice  _still_ melodic, even when strained with need. “Please take me.”

Obi-Wan paused, smiled. “Well... since you asked so prettily.”

It was a rare thing for Obi-Wan to _enter_ another. The occasional female visitor, every once in a _very_ long while, a male guest.

But Xanatos...

Xanatos wanted to be guided, moved by his lover, placed in position and then penetrated, deep, quiet, with soft gasps and gentle moans from both parties.

He was an emotional lover, and often tears would slip silent across his face while coupling. It made sex with strangers awkward.

But Obi-Wan never once protested that facet of who he was.

Occasionally Xanatos wanted Obi-Wan to be rough with him, but for the most part, he just wanted a firm hand, a strong control, an insistent but gentle fripping.

So Obi-Wan soothed the finely-sculpted muscles of Xanatos' body with his hands. Not worshipful, but possessive, appreciative. Xanatos groaned beneath him, pressing back, as if trying to take in more length than Obi-Wan possessed.

“ _Master,_ ” Xanatos choked at last, and Obi-Wan ran his fingers deep into the prince's hair, earning a shuddering and gasp.

“Xani.” Obi-Wan shifted his voice into another accent, and whispered to hide that his voice wasn't quite deep enough.

Xanatos writhed back against him with a cry.

Obi-Wan had practiced the voice long, for his Lord Ire, though Xanatos had not asked him for it.

Then again, Obi-Wan had been quick to observe Xanatos' ongoing fantasy, the way he whimpered _that man's_ name, begged for his love and to be _seen._

What Xanatos cried in the heights of sex were things no other ear could ever be allowed to hear.

It was Obi-Wan, who had chosen to learn to shape his tongue to speak with _that_ accent, even if he wasn't particularly good in his impression.

To Xanatos, who could lose himself in his mind already...

It was the height of ecstasy.

Obi-Wan feigned when outside these chambers that Xanatos was like all the others. Demanding, invading, so very “masculine.”

But within, he cradled Xanatos' fragile soul and held him as he wept, and fripped him with another man's voice.

A voice Obi-Wan had once looked to with hope, but had long ago learned would never save him.

At least the voice had a use now.

Obi-Wan wouldn't bring himself to completion for a good long while yet, letting Xanatos feel the stretch of him within for as long as either of them could stand it, but he  _did_ unlatch the cock cage, and drew Xanatos over the edge with skilled fingers.

“ _Qui!_ ” Xanatos sobbed as he came, body shuddering like it might fall apart.

Obi-Wan, still buried within him, held him close as Xanatos' arms gave out and collapsed them to the bed.

Obi-Wan did not ply his skin with kisses, or tell him it was alright. Instead he merely held him tight and kept seated deep within, while Xanatos sobbed.

If this sort of fragility were ever discovered by the other Sith, Xanatos' place would be in serious jeopardy.

But Obi-Wan didn't despise it. He leaned his cheek against the back of Xanatos' neck and waited out the storm, knowing hunger would return when it passed.

Xanatos was still far from being sated.

 

* * *

 

Anakin hadn't expected Ire or Obi-Wan to appear in the drawing room, considering they'd been occupied, but around the same time as the rest of the... “family”... gathered, so did they.

Obi-Wan was clean and dressed in a sleek black tunic and a short black kilt. Ire wore something similar, just without the collar around his throat or the gold circlet around his ankle.

Anakin went very still on his chair, recognizing just how stunningly beautiful the two were.

While conversation flowed and ebbed, and Dooku examined some paintings in a book, Obi-Wan danced.

He was clearly there to be entertainment, but the fact that some of the time _no_ eyes were aimed in his direction didn't seem to bother or deter him.

A thought Anakin wasn't at all comfortable with passed through his mind.

_He requires no audience to be exactly what he is._

Ire danced as well, as sinuous as Obi-Wan, but not quite as submissive in the forms. Obi-Wan could have been switched out with a female Twi'lek pole dancer and the difference would have been negligible.

Ire danced with less abandon, and with a coldness about him.

He didn't look  _forced,_ but it was clear that just because he was here, dancing with a slave, he was not to be treated like one.

His hands would pass over Obi-Wan, and the slut's eyelashes would quiver as he leaned into the touch, and it didn't take long for a noticeable erection to press against its confines.

Anakin sighed, looking away.

He wasn't sure how he felt about this house of sex.

“So?”

Anakin looked up, found Ventress moving to sit in an overstuffed chair beside his. He nearly choked. She wore a graceful black dress with one high shoulder and the other bare, a long slit up the side that exposed a length of pale, shapely leg, and when she sat, she looked like a lady.

“Have you tasted our Obi-Wan's charms yet?” Ventress asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to ask. As if they hadn't been mortal enemies through most of the war. As if she hadn't just vanished off the face of the war and turned up as a  _bounty hunter_ later.

“Ah— no,” Anakin dismissed.

She nodded. “Does he frighten you?”

Anakin's automatic denial didn't make it to his lips, and to his own surprise he found himself grinning a bit ruefully, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, a bit.” He chuckled, realizing it was both true and only mildly embarrassing.

Obi-Wan flashed him a look from under heavy lashes.

“He actually enjoys the sex, you know,” Ventress continued. “I can almost see it on you, your fear he hasn't really consented to all this.”

“Do Sith care about such things?” Anakin tried to joke, but it fell flat.

She shrugged. “Some do, some don't at all. Those who do, rarely do because it's the  _right_ thing.”

He sent her a surprised look.

“Oh? You think I would  _claim_ such a thing? Of course not. I find sex another being actually wants to be more enjoyable for me. And Obi-Wan wants me. My mate is another matter entirely, but I am a Nightsister.”

Savage's head came up and his nostrils flared. His gaze shot across the room to them, and for a moment he looked just a bit alarmed.

Maul, sitting beside him and speaking with Sidious, didn't even look up, he merely petted a thumb over Savage's forearm and then the touch was gone, but that tiny amount of steadying seemed to calm Savage's alarm.

“Frost and Krell don't care at all, they enjoy others' fear and misery in  _all_ contexts. Some of us are... more connoisseurs of misery, if you will.”

Anakin sent her a look.  _Force, you clearly studied under Dooku._

Dooku, who was watching the dancing with thinly-veiled distaste.

_Too “feminine,”_ Anakin guessed from what Obi-Wan had said earlier.

Maul and Savage left, not to retire but to exit the planet entirely, heading back out to... whatever they'd been doing before dropping in to view the new acquisition.

With the precedent set, Anakin decided to throw in the towel early, not really enjoying the company of so many people who had, at one point or other in his life, hurt him or the people he loved.

An hour later...

He began to doubt if he should have.

 

* * *

 

The first intimation he had that something was amiss was a terrible wrenching in the Force. It yanked Anakin from the window, had him standing tensed, nose in the air like a startled wild thing scenting the wind.

_What_ was happening?

It fell quiet, just a gut-rolling unease flicking through the Force, like something brushing past your leg under dark water. Anakin waited in a chair that allowed him to view all entrances to the room, braced and alert, saber in his hand.

He didn't sense a specific threat to  _him,_ and he wasn't at all sure if there was, say, a threat to  _Dooku,_ that he  _cared_ to intervene.

Something thudded against his door, then slid to the floor.

The sound had him bolting from the chair and opening the door, ready to fight.

He found Obi-Wan crumpled on the floor, curled in on himself, near-naked and bleeding, and angry red marks all over him, strikes that would bruise—

Anakin looked, but found no one else near in the quiet dark of the hall. He crouched down, feeling grim. “What happened?” he asked, trying to assess if it was safe to move the wounded man or not.

Gray eyes peered up at him, glazed with pain and fear. “Krell came home early. I have to hide.”

Instincts from Anakin's time as a slave leapt into action, and he lifted the battered body in his arms, rushing to place it on the bed while he Force-shut the door, and once relieved of his burden, he locked and barricaded the door.

“Has this happened before?” Anakin asked, hearing the threat in his voice.

“No. He didn't let me prepare. And— and he's snapped. He tried to take some Twi'lek woman while out, and she fought back, got away, called the authorities on him.”

Anakin's lip curled in fury as he ducked into the refresher to fill a washcloth with cool water. “He was going to kill her, once he was done?”  
“Of course, but how dare she prevent him from getting what he wanted. I was caught unaware that he had been thwarted. I will not be found so again.”

There was a hiss in his voice of venom, but the quaver of pain nullified the effect for Anakin. He returned, began to take stock of the injuries.

“How badly are you hurt?” Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan turned his head, and Anakin saw the marks around his throat where he'd been throttled, and on his body the prints of giant, vicious hands, and a cut that certainly hadn't been made by a hand.

“I— there may be burst organs. And he hit my head against the wall. My brain might be swelling or bleeding. And I think he cut me up inside.”

Anakin's eyes widened.

“His cock is not that big, but he fripped me with his saber hilt, too. And that has enough sharp edges—”

Anakin stared at him in utter horror.

“—if I don't bleed to death from those lacerations, I might die from sepsis, from my innards being connected by slices.”

Anakin grabbed up his comm and called for the med droid, his hand shaking. How could Obi-Wan assess so  _clinically_ ? 

_Because—_

Oh, but Anakin couldn't think of that now. Couldn't think about how many years Obi-Wan had been in a place where darkness ruled.

“If Maul had been here,” Anakin growled—

Obi-Wan scowled. “If Maul had been here,  _nothing._ Can I hide here for a bit?”  
“You can hide here until I kill Krell for what he did to my men, and what he did to you.” Anakin would leave just as soon as the med droid arrived.

Fury flooded out of Obi-Wan like a wave of acid, startling Anakin. “The weak  _are taken from_ and  _die,_ Vader. There is no  _rescuing_ here. Either I  _handle this myself,_ or it's  _over,_ do you understand? You rescue me,  _Maul_ rescues me, next it's  _Bruck_ who decides he can do something like this to me, cowardly little arsehole. The weak only exist to have things  _taken from them_ ! You look  _shocked._ You're a  _Sith,_ Vader!”

If that was the creed?  _I'm not sure I want to be,_ was his first rebellious thought. His mom hadn't brought him up to think victims  _deserved_ to be hurt because they hadn't been able to prevent it.

Qui-Gon hadn't taught him that either.

But...

Sidious did.

_He... he saved Padmé for me..._

“Are you saying other Sith here, now,  _knew_ what Krell was doing to you and they did  _nothing_ ?”  
Obi-Wan looked at him as if he'd grown a third arm. “ _All of them._ ”

The med droid knocked at the door, and Anakin hurried to let it in.

The prognosis wasn't good.

Obi-Wan had dodged brain injury, but he had fractures, and yes, he was bleeding inside and it was all kinds of deadly.

Anakin carried him to a bacta tank, then stood guard while Obi-Wan drifted, unconscious.

No one else came.

_They're just waiting to see if he makes it or dies, without lifting a finger to help._

Fury boiled in Anakin's blood, but he didn't dare go hunt for Krell, in case Krell snuck in here and  _finished_ the job. And damn it, if Anakin was going to let  _Pong Krell_ kill a slave in a house where Anakin was staying.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one includes a fist fight that does not go particularly well.

 

Anakin stood in an artificial grove of trees, staring into an equally tended meadow and couldn't quite believe how he'd gotten there.

Obi-Wan, armed with a small knife, without armor, and with only loose black pants as clothing, his body covered in purple-green bruises across ribs, wrists, arms, throat—

The cut on his face from being struck with the hilt of Krell's lightsaber had healed up, but a few hours in a bacta tank hadn't cleared away _all_ damage. Just the least debilitating, and the most life threatening. The middle things remained.

Krell stood opposite him, two double-bladed lightsabers at the ready.

Obi-Wan had insisted to Anakin he had  _one chance_ to prove he was not weak.

If he was weak, he was simply waiting to be eliminated. By the purist Dooku, by the cruel Sidious, by being left out in the winter to die of exposure— the Sith did not abide weakness. They couldn't  _stand_ it.

So either Obi-Wan killed Krell, with what Obi-Wan had to use—

Or he might as well die by Krell's hand and get it over with.

“He  _cannot win,_ ” Anakin protested to Ventress, under his breath to keep from harming Obi-Wan's hope.

Except the slave had a grim, backed-into-a-corner look in his eye that made Anakin wonder if he actually thought he had a chance...

Or was simply going to fight for one, and then die with what grace he could muster.

“He should at least have a lightsaber.”

“He does not possess one.” Ventress shrugged. “If he'd made one in secret, he could use it now. But he didn't.”

“Why not?”

“Didn't have a crystal, most likely.”

_Because his access to get one is limited. Very. And if he stole one..._

Oh, wonder who must have perpetrated  _that_ crime in a house full of sabers.

“The knife  _is_ cortosis,” Ventress pointed out, “and it has a blade catcher.”

Anakin had recognized the little curl from the hilt where an opponent's blade could get snagged, so the edge could be controlled.

And Anakin knew enough to know that a double-bladed saber was not more dangerous than a single. The far end  _could only_ be where the fore end indicated.

But Obi-Wan only had one set of hands. And  _that_ was a  _clear_ disadvantage.

Besides still recovering from an awful beating. And the fact that Krell outweighed him  _vastly._

“And none of you value what Obi-Wan does for you enough to just kill Krell yourselves? Who's your frip-boy when Obi-Wan dies?”

Ventress shrugged. “Sidious would find someone else. And Skywalker, it's not like Obi-Wan is  _actually_ Sith. He's not apprentice material, though there was a time when they thought it might be the case— which is why they brought him here in the first place. He's always just barely been alive, you know? His loyalty, enthusiasm, body— that's why he's still alive.” She shrugged. “Those things can't keep him here forever. He is no Sith: he is a slave. Eventually that inferiority will catch up to him and demand its due.”

Anakin felt rage surge through his blood again.

“You know if you step in and help him, he'll be done,” Ventress added, eyeing Anakin. “He will have failed the test and Sidious will snap his neck while he sleeps without ever entering the room containing him.”

“All of you wouldn't be so  _fripping_ glib if Maul were here.”

Except...

Anakin didn't know that for sure.

The fight launched open without warning, snapping Anakin's attention back in that direction.

Obi-Wan fought well, frighteningly well, considering no one had been teaching him. He'd clearly trained himself for this possibility.

But Krell  _did_ have four arms, and Obi-Wan couldn't afford to close with him in battle. 

And Krell had the ability to leap farther, faster—

Anakin cringed as Krell's fist slammed into the side of Obi-Wan's head, sending him to the grass.

And then it just turned into a brutal beating with fists and extinguished saber hilts—

Obi-Wan still had his knife but was too stunned to sink it into his attacker.

“Jedi!” Frost blurted, racing away.

Ventress smacked Anakin's arm. “Get out of here! Can't be seen!”

But Anakin's feet couldn't move as Krell pummeled Obi-Wan.

_He will kill him._

The other Sith sprinted into the trees, making for the house—

“Vader,  _move,_ ” Sidious commanded, and Anakin moved, because he  _did_ as Palpatine ordered, that was just something he  _did,_ he always had, and—

But he paused, just beyond the treeline, hiding behind one and staring.

He felt strangely torn.

Two weeks ago, he would have lunged to Obi-Wan's aid, frip all the consequences.

But he didn't have a home anymore. Didn't have people.

All he had was Sidious.

This life was terrifying and awful, but Anakin wasn't ready to die here and now, impaled on half a dozen red blades.

And then blue punched through Krell's head, and the Besalisk fell dead, shoved by the Force so he didn't land on Obi-Wan.

Anakin knew he should be helping cloak their refuge, but all he could see was Qui-Gon Jinn, crouching down by Obi-Wan.

“How badly are you hurt, young man?” the familiar voice rumbled.

 

* * *

 

_Oh, look who's fripped me over again._

Obi-Wan spat blood out of his mouth, then glared up at  _him._

“You've made my only worth be that of prey. Now they will only see me as something to take, take, take from, before one of them shrugs and kills me. You should be proud of yourself, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

The older man frowned in confusion. “How do you know me?”  
“Have I changed so much since you left me to die on Melida/Daan? Is it the collar? Funny how you choose to save me  _now,_ once I'm a  _pathetic_ life form. A child in your custody who needed you could be abandoned in a warzone, clear conscience, but an anonymous  _frip slave_ is worth saving. Now that you know it's me, you can be on your way.”

Oh, he sounded bitter, he sounded  _pathetic,_ he sounded—

Qui-Gon looked horrified. As if he hadn't actually  _thought_ about where a  _thirteen-year-old_ left  _alone_ on a  _strange planet_ to  _fight in an army_ might turn out.

Oh, no. Child Obi-Wan had _betrayed_ Qui-Gon Jinn, _hurt_ Qui-Gon Jinn, and was _no longer_ his legal guardian's problem.

“You're hurt. I need to get you help.”

“When has that  _ever_ mattered?” Obi-Wan spat back. He dragged himself to his knees, pointed a near-hysterical finger at Krell. “Do you know how  _much I will have to give now?_ To  _survive_ ? Because  _I_ didn't kill him, I required  _your help?_ No! You don't! You have  _never_ considered what your actions might mean for me,  _only_ how  _good they feel to you._ ” Obi-Wan tried to stand, but his knee buckled and Qui-Gon caught him, and Obi-Wan  _hated_ him for it, hated him  _so much—_

 

* * *

 

Anakin held his breath, trying to hide within the Force. His former master might be busy _now,_ but—

_Melida/Daan? What was that?_

Jinn lowered the wounded man back down against the ground again, Obi-Wan hissing and spitting the while, and then the Jedi's hands were wrapped with golden light as Jinn tried to mend the worst of the damage.

_The lethal parts._

Obi-Wan whimpered, shuddered, eyes going vacant with pain, and then lighting once again with fury. He gripped the knife he held, then rolled sideways and impaled Jinn's hand to the ground.

Obi-Wan let go of the knife and lunged upward, stumbling for the trees.

As Jinn wrenched the knife from his hand with a yell, Anakin grabbed Obi-Wan, hauled him behind the cover of a massive trunk.

Obi-Wan, unable to bear his own weight, sagged in Anakin's grip. “What are you still  _doing here_ ?” Obi-Wan hissed. “You should have run!”

“I wasn't going to leave you to die,” Anakin whispered back.

Obi-Wan gave him a disgusted look and muttered, “Fool.”

“ _Padawan!_ ” Jinn thundered, and Anakin cringed, wondering if somehow his former master had seen him.

He was about to reply when Obi-Wan slammed a hand up over his mouth and shook his head, glittering fury in his eyes.

“Obi-Wan, I just want to help! You're scared; I'm not angry. Oh, that hurts like a kath hound. I'm not angry, Obi-Wan. And if you're as in danger as you say, you need your knife back.”

Obi-Wan's resolve wavered.

Anakin gripped his shoulders tighter with a warning shake of his head, but Obi-Wan flipped him the bird, pulled free, and stepped out into sight again.

“I'm not your padawan any longer. Give me back the knife,” Obi-Wan slurred, and then his knees dropped him to the dirt.

Anakin cringed.

Qui-Gon hurried forward, hand wrapped in a bandage he'd meant for Obi-Wan, and crouched over the unconscious slave. Then he looked over at Anakin, and sighed. “I've been trying to reach you for a long time. Why did you run from me?”

“You don't want to kill me?” Anakin asked, skeptical.

Qui-Gon looked down at Obi-Wan's limp form, looking mournful.

“Do you intend to kill more innocents, as soon as you get the chance?”

Anakin felt disgust filter through his veins. “No,” he admitted. He did not like the way it felt. He didn't revel in it the way the other Sith spoke of. “But I have nowhere to go, and the Republic wants my head.”

“I have a room at an inn not far from here. Will you trust me that far?” Jinn asked, and he sounded so tired and sad that Anakin found himself nodding.

Oh...

Sidious was going to be livid.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Qui-Gon's room was small, but it had a tiny kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom, with a tub perhaps big enough to sit in if you drew your knees up to your chest and did not mind your toes bumping the end.

Obi-Wan lay on the bed, and Qui-Gon spent the first hour in mending his insides, drawing away the terrible brutality of Krell.

Anakin sat in a chair in the corner and watched.

Force healing was not a comfortable thing. It included drawing the injured's pain into oneself, bearing it in its entirety as the mending process continued. Jinn's eyes were closed, his face twisted in pain as he worked, his hands shaking, his hair... so much more silver than it had been last time Anakin had seen him, not  _that_ long ago.

He looked worn out and grief-wounded.

Anakin looked away, uncomfortable.

_I did that._

At last the worst of it was over, and Jinn was able to open his eyes and gasp in air with relief, and after a moment to recover, he began to clear away bruises with light traces of his fingertips, something that required far less sacrifice on his part.

“How— how are Padmé and the twins?” Anakin asked. He  _had_ to know.

Qui-Gon kept at his work with loving fingers and murmured, “she's been elected Chancellor. Organa is serving as her Vice-Chancellor, and the twins are healthy and beautiful.”

Anakin tried to swallow, found it difficult. Didn't even  _try_ to speak.

“She requested I watch over them when she's working, weave Force-protection over them to keep Sidious from harming them, long-distance.”

Anakin frowned. “Palpatine wouldn't try to harm them. He helped me  _save_ them.”

“Alright.” Qui-Gon sent him a non-confrontational glance. “You trust him, then?”

Anakin opened his mouth to swear to it, then paused, looked to Obi-Wan.

_Do I?_

Obi-Wan's eyelids fluttered apart and he groaned.

“Easy,” Jinn soothed.

Blue-green eyes peered up at the massive Jedi, then frowned. “I hate you,” the slave mumbled.

Jinn gave a single nod. “I deserve that.”

“Why?” Anakin asked. “How does he know you?”

Qui-Gon sighed. “I had apprentices before you, Anakin.”

“ _What_ ?”

“There was Feemor, a kind, if bland, boy. And then there was Xanatos.”

Anakin stared at Qui-Gon. “Why haven't I met them?”  
“You  _have_ met one,” Obi-Wan tossed back. “And Qui-Gon was ashamed of the other for his... blandness. He would be a good knight, a decent human being, but he'd never break any records or gain any fame. Easily forgotten, by Qui-Gon.”

“That's—” Qui-Gon's voice shook. “I took my grieving over Xanatos too far, and distanced myself from Feemor. It was wrong, and I'm ashamed of it. But it wasn't because Feemor is  _lacking_ in any way.”

“But there were  _three_ ?” Anakin pushed.

Qui-Gon sighed. “After Xanatos, there came Obi-Wan. But he left me, left the Order, on a planet called Melida/Daan. I left him there, to fight the war he'd chosen.”

Obi-Wan scoffed, a terrible hurt and broken trust in his eyes.

“I came to my senses, even if it took two months for it. But by the time I went back for him, I could find no trace of him, wherever I searched.”

“I was long gone,” Obi-Wan hissed. “ _Long_ gone. And I could have easily been long _dead._ But I'm not. Instead, I wear a collar. So what are you going to do _now,_ Qui-Gon Jinn?”  
Qui-Gon looked to Anakin. “How did the two of you meet? And how did Obi-Wan fall foul of Krell?”  
“Why do you think he's collared?” Anakin asked, wondering how much he should say.

Obi-Wan's eyes widened and he sent Anakin both a frightened and warning look.

“ _Krell_ enslaved him?” Qui-Gon yelped, looking horrified.

Obi-Wan nodded, quick and sure.

Anakin swallowed. “Yeah.”

“And how did you stumble across them?” Qui-Gon asked, looking sick.

“I was hunting Krell.” The lie came easy, especially since there was so much truth lurking at the corners of it.

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting it, his exhausted mind and body needing rest. “Do either of you have a place to stay?”

He received two hesitant head-shakes.

“Then you're welcome to stay here.” He wrapped himself up in his cloak and lay down on the floor. “I have harmed you both. I understand if neither of you want to trust me.”

And then he went to sleep.

On the floor.

In their presence.

Obi-Wan looked down at him with wide eyes, then over to Anakin.

_He's that tired. And he's making a point._

_That he's willing to risk trusting us._

Anakin ran his hands through his hair, feeling even more lost and confused than before.

_Qui-Gon interfered with Krell when none of the Sith did._

And while Anakin thought the idea of letting Obi-Wan prove himself and fight his own battles was fine... wasn't there a point, where just watching an abuser and rapist beat him to death with his fists and a blunt object was inexcusable?

_How much longer would I have waited?_

Anakin's gut flipped over.

He didn't... he didn't like the person he was becoming, since following Palpatine. It wasn't an easy thing to think, since Palpatine had been a close friend since Anakin's childhood, a man Anakin had always trusted and had Anakin's best interests at heart.

_But I think we care about different things._

Anakin's gaze landed on the collar around Obi-Wan's neck.

_Very different things._

 

* * *

 

Anakin had only been dozing in the chair, when movement alerted his attention.

It was Obi-Wan, creeping out of the bed. He called his knife to his hand with the Force, stretched a bare foot out to reach the floor.

_The hell are you doing—?_

Obi-Wan's eyes glittered gold in the murk, aimed for the slumbering Qui-Gon.

“Hey,” Anakin whispered.

Obi-Wan's head snapped around, but he didn't look concerned. He diverted direction, edged to Anakin.

“Don't you see? I can salvage this. If I kill Jinn, bring back his head, Sidious will accept that. Not all strength is physical. That way, when they think of Krell, they don't think of me being weak and in need of rescue, they think of me getting revenge for not being allowed to make my kill.”

Anakin sighed. “Obi-Wan, Krell  _defeated_ you in that meadow.”

Golden eyes flickered blue and widened in betrayal, his face tensing up.

“And do you actually want to go back?”

“And what else do I  _have?_ ” Obi-Wan demanded, voice not quite silent anymore. “Have Jinn drop me off at some  _homeless shelter?_ Or worse, a refuge house for ex-slaves? You think I want to be  _nothing_ ?”

Anakin stared into those fevered eyes. “Isn't being nothing better than giving sex you don't want to give? At least as 'nothing' you'd have control over your own body, your own destiny. I know he's not the best, but Jinn's the only person in this scenario you actually  _could_ sleep in the presence of without wondering if he was going to grope you in the night.”

Obi-Wan's fingers tightened around the knife hilt.

“I am the harem of the Sith. And before Krell lost his head, it was a  _good place to be._ ”

“Except they refused to train you. You're just sex to them. A loyal pet.”  
“Well, not all of us could be  _Jedi,_ ” Obi-Wan sneered. “You could, but you didn't know how good you had it. Threw it all fripping away because you're a needy, whiny bitch. Nothing's ever  _fair_ to Anakin Skywalker. Nothing's ever  _enough._ He deserves more and better, and why don't people  _respect_ him, doesn't he whine enough when they don't?”

Anakin glared, suddenly furious. “You know  _nothing._ My  _wife_ was going to  _die—_ ”

“And  _no one_ has ever had to live through heartbreak before,” Obi-Wan scoffed. “You think you deserve  _better_ than every damn human who has ever lived, who has ever faced death and loss. You're the  _Chosen One,_ so you shouldn't ever have to endure the things the  _pathetic_ humans  _so far beneath your feet_ have to bear, because they have no other option. Death isn't your enemy.  _Discomfort_ is. Force  _forbid_ you endure  _anything_ not  _perfectly nice._ ”

“Shut up,” Anakin hissed. “At least I  _tried_ to make my lot better. You just roll over and take it!”  
“Killing me would probably go more smoothly if you didn't wake me up with your bickering first,” grumbled Qui-Gon, not even sitting up.

Two pairs of startled, wide eyes stared at him.

“Obi-Wan, I didn't know you were living with the Sith. I wasn't trying to make your only value... how did you put it? Only as prey? I didn't know. I'm sorry.” Qui-Gon sat up, and he looked tired and sad. “Are you going to kill me?”

Obi-Wan moved away from Anakin with a hysterical half-laugh. “When you're  _willing_ ? With  _Vader_ as witness? Kill you while you're asleep, and I'm ruthless and resourceful. Kill you while you're  _awake_ and  _willing from pity,_ and that's even  _more_ pathetic than before! I'd have to kill Vader too so I could  _claim_ I slew you while you slept, and Force knows I can't defeat  _Vader!_ ”

Surprised, Anakin sent him another look. There was such _despair_ lurking behind the vicious aggression that had been needling Anakin moments ago.

_Oh._

_If I wasn't going to let him kill Qui-Gon... then better to provoke me into killing him myself, because..._

_Because I've shown no sexual interest in him. Because I'm known for not thinking things through, for just reacting. I'd kill him quick. It's be a surprise, a shock, fast, over._

_I wouldn't make him linger and suffer._

Unlike the others might, if Obi-Wan went home.

Anakin's anger drained out of him. At least... anger towards  _Obi-Wan._

The longer Anakin spent away from Sidious, the more...

_Sidious raised Obi-Wan, the way Qui-Gon did me._

Anakin had never been afraid in the Temple that someone would just out of the blue try to  _murder_ him if he failed some unspoken test.

_Obi-Wan's lived with this a long time._

There was something wrong with that.

And Obi-Wan had said that Maul always understood Obi-Wan's place in the household, and Obi-Wan had said that he hadn't been touched until adulthood by the lords of the house...

_But he and Maul were exploring before they reached full adulthood._

So if Maul had already known Obi-Wan's future place...

_Did Obi-Wan ever actually have a chance? Did he see it heading his way, somehow? Teach himself how to survive, by adapting to thrive in such an environment?_

“I'm guessing this is why Anakin was hiding, when I arrived. There had been more, hadn't there, and they fled to try to keep me from seeing them. They hoped I would interpret the darkness as just Krell, or just Krell and Obi-Wan, and not realize they had a home somewhere near.” Qui-Gon sighed, his shoulders sagging. “This isn't part of the Republic, I have no authority here.”

“Why  _are_ you here?” Anakin asked.

Qui-Gon sighed. “Dooku asked to meet with me. Told me to stay in this inn, that he would contact me. I hadn't heard from him outside the war in... so long. I took a several-month leave, didn't tell anyone where I was going.”

“Why did you tell us that?” Obi-Wan fidgeted, looking so very jittery. “Why would you  _tell_ us something like that? Now we  _know_ that killing you will keep us safe! If I bring home  _that_ intel, then I will have  _saved the refuge._ ”

“You think they'll forget about whatever it was that Krell did to you?” Qui-Gon asked, quietly. “You think they'll forgive it?”

Obi-Wan's expression went blank.

Anakin knew why.

_There is no forgiveness among the Sith._

“Obi-Wan, how many people would you have to convince? Is it just convincing Sidious?” Qui-Gon asked.

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped. “No. Sidious would not extend me protection. It is not the way of the dark side— to protect that which cannot keep itself safe. Survival of the strong, subjugation or elimination of the weak. It is the way of the darkness. Sith, Nightclans, other dark faiths, doesn't matter. Interpretations vary, but the truth of the darkness remains the same. The weak deserve nothing more than a collar or death. With Krell dead, twelve lords of the house, and the Inquisitors, at least, would have to be persuaded. Perhaps not the guests. They might not know.”

“You have that many masters?” Anakin asked, surprised.

Obi-Wan sent him a disgusted look. “I do not have masters, I have  _lords._ The word  _Master_ is for  _apprentices,_ and I am no apprentice. I  _was_ allowed opinions, life, some autonomy,  _and_ pleasure because I was perceived to have a measure of strength, even if not enough to make me worth the honor of apprenticeship. Now I am nothing but blood to be spilled, screams to be wailed, and life to be deprived of. I had my one chance to redeem myself, and  _Jinn_ blew it for me.”

“Listen, maybe he's responsible for a lot of kark, but not that.” Anakin shook his head. “You were beaten, Obi-Wan. You were going to die. And a dead you doesn't have any honor with the Sith either.”

Qui-Gon sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me how I can make this right, Obi-Wan.”

“You?  _Can't,_ ” Obi-Wan scoffed. “Even the plan to kill you wasn't well thought out enough. If Tyranus still loves you, he would put me down like a rabid cur for it, if Ire didn't get to me first and wrench my heart out of my ribcage. Ventress would side with her master, and Frost with his—”

“Frost is a stupid name,” Anakin mumbled.

Obi-Wan turned ferocious eyes to him. “It  _is_ a stupid name, and when he picked it he was so  _proud,_ because of his  _white hair_ and because  _frost kills_ and it was all I could do not to roll my eyes and flick him on the dick. Because he is. An idiot. And  _somehow,_ he was deemed  _Sith material,_ and  _I was not—!_ ”

Anakin stared at him for a long moment. “Who chose Frost?”

“Ire did!”

“Who is Ire and why would he care so much if I died?” Qui-Gon asked, bewildered.

“Xanatos!” Obi-Wan snapped. “Your  _precious, perfect_ Xanatos!”

Qui-Gon seemed to reel. “After all these years,  _alive_ ?”

“Yes! And Feemor is  _not!_ Feemor was the last whore for the Sith, used until he was used  _up,_ and kept  _after that_ until  _I_ was ready to take his place.  _Feemor._ Your abandoned knight! The only man who gave a  _kark_ about me growing up, who kept their attention away from me for as long as he could, and when he saw it would not last forever, told me how to survive! You want to know what my birthday was like, when I was officially an  _adult_ ? Feemor's death day. It was hideous, and  _terrible—_ ”

Tears sprang to Obi-Wan's eyes, and he didn't bother to try to blink them away or hide them.

“And that was that.”

_So you did know ahead of time, and so did Maul. Because you saw what you would become._

“They  _like me_ as a person, and they never liked Feemor. I have it  _so much better_ than he did, and I could have kept that going  _indefinitely,_ but you've cut away all my time. Now I can run, and run  _forever,_ or I can go home, face what Feemor faced that last day. Happy birthday, me, thus ends the tale of the influence of Qui-Gon Jinn in the life of a miserable slave.”

But Anakin was back with something else. “No one considered you Sith material, but Frost was chosen by Ire and in all these years, no one has moved to remove him.”

“Life is unjust.”

Qui-Gon still said not a word, clearly bewildered and horrified.

_Did you even know he went missing? Now you're wondering, aren't you, if there's something you could have noticed, and just didn't._

“What if  _I_ took you as my apprentice?”

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin. “The frip.”

“I could walk back in there, you put on your golden eyes, I know you can, I've seen you do it, we announce your Sith name, and that's that.”

“You're not even a  _darth_ yet, are you?” Obi-Wan sputtered.

“Actually, I am. Sidious granted me the title, right before... before.”

Obi-Wan stared at him, and then rage flooded the room again. “You'd barely even been a Sith for thirty seconds and he made you a  _darth?!_ The  _frip are you—!_ ”

“Obi-Wan, have you had access to holocrons and books?” Qui-Gon asked, speaking up at last.

“Yes.”

“You probably have far more knowledge than... Darth Vader.”

Anakin winced. “Yeah.”

Obi-Wan looked surprised at the admission.

“Obi-Wan is right,” Qui-Gon continued. “If he runs, he will be hunted down and made an example of. I cannot think of a single instance in the past where a slave running from the Sith has ever been met with... forgetfulness. To survive, something will have to be done that completely changes the playing field.”

Obi-Wan stared at him in shock. “What are you doing?”

“I want you alive, Obi-Wan. You, and Anakin, and Xanatos, and Dooku, and I don't know how in hell's name I'm going to rescue any of you from Sidious' hell-hole—”

“It's not Sidious',” Obi-Wan interrupted, shocking Anakin. “He's only lord of the house when the true lord and his protege are away.”

“ _What,_ ” Anakin rasped.

“Obi-Wan, is Dooku happy?” Qui-Gon asked, intense, so intense. “He was miserable with the Jedi. Is he more happy now?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. Swallowed.

_Holy frip, the answer's a no, or it's a very close thing,_ Anakin realized in shock.

“Is Xanatos happy?”  
Obi-Wan's gaze faltered entirely.

_An even more obvious no._

“Are  _you_ happy? I'm not asking if you've found a way to be happy. I'm asking, if you step back out of your mind games, if you don't focus on sex, are you happy? Are you happy living in the home that killed the only man who actually cared about you, growing up?”

Obi-Wan did not speak.  
“And is my Anakin happy?” Qui-Gon whispered, eyes finding Anakin's.

Tears sprang to cover gold, and Anakin felt one slip down his cheek.

He missed Padmé. He wanted to see his children.

How the hell could he be happy when his own wife  _feared_ what he might do to their  _babies_ ?

“The Republic is safe. The Jedi are recovering. None of them need me, but the people I love? All of them are miserable,” Qui-Gon rasped. “So something has to change, and it has my full attention until it does. Maybe then, if I've survived, will I go home, but not until then.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I promised this would get even ickier? The end of this chapter is what I had in mind.

 

For a long time none of them spoke.

Obi-Wan was the one to break the silence with a soft, shaky, “The sex is what makes it endurable. If— if I was an apprentice, it would be taking away what makes that house livable. That and the books. Sidious lets me read any of the books I want.”

“Dear Force,” Anakin breathed, a realization dawning upon him. “You've read them _all_ , haven't you?”

Obi-Wan sent him a quelling look. “The libraries are vast. I've not read even a  _fraction._ ”

“But you have a system, and you've made a lot of progress,” Anakin asserted.

Obi-Wan's head and shoulders shifted, just a little thing, almost an unconscious preening.

_Of course you have._

Obi-Wan might love and crave the sex, but...

_You have the mind of a viper, and the patience of one._

“The lords think it's cute, and they think I can't make use of what I read. Which is true. I do not have the raw power required to face down any of them with arcane knowledge alone.”

“Without a buffer,” Anakin corrected. “You're a ranged combatant, not melee. You're not meant to be thrown in an arena with the other Sith, but perhaps... working from behind the scenes? Strategy, and corruption...”  _Oh._ “ _You_ should apprentice  _me_ .”

An elegant eyebrow shot up. “The whore's apprentice,” Obi-Wan mocked.  
“Maybe,” Anakin challenged back. “The Force knocked up a slave girl, and I'm the result. You've got all of those lords wrapped around your little finger, except Frost and Krell, and Krell is dead. Hell, one of them sees you as his  _life partner._ You're clever and resilient, and maybe it's time Sidious received harm from underestimating the whore with little power and the Force's bastard son.”

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Obi-Wan froze up. “Tyranus,” he whispered.

Qui-Gon opened the door and let the Sith in, leaving both Anakin and Obi-Wan wondering if they'd have to fight for their lives in a minute.

“I see Qui-Gon spared you,” he said, eyes connecting with Obi-Wan's. “He never did know when to let a ruined, broken thing die.”

Obi-Wan raised his head and stared back.

“And you can thank your lucky stars it's so,” Qui-Gon said to his old master, “or I wouldn't have come back for  _you._ ”

Shock, disapproval, and just a  _hint_ of fondness flashed through Dooku's face. “Insolent as always, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon may have spoken first, but Obi-Wan clearly wasn't going to let it go.

“So this is how it will be, then?” He asked, stepping forward, and despite his tattered rags and bruises, he held himself with all the dignity of a prince, his eyes flashing, head held high. “As if you never took comfort in my masculinity, in the lines of my body?”

Dooku's expression darkened.

“The man who holds to the weak, ugly  _light_ and grants you no respect is beloved, while I, who has been ever faithful and trustworthy and exactly what you desired, am to be disposed of?”

Anakin's gaze shifted to Qui-Gon, who looked nearly heartbroken at the realization that when Obi-Wan said the lords  _used him,_ he meant  _all of them._

But Qui-Gon kept silence.

Dooku stared down into Obi-Wan's eyes, a thunderous presence in the Force that had Anakin's own heart quailing.

Obi-Wan took another step forward. “You have always expected dignity of me, and decorum, and pride, and I will give none of that up  _now._ If suddenly I am defiling, and have tainted you by association, then kill me yourself, here, now, but I will  _not_ be kicked away like a peasant-blooded  _cur._ ”

Dooku's hand did not stray to his saber.

“You despised Feemor because he was a peasant. I still have the blood of  _kings_ in my veins.”

_Holy kark._ Obi-Wan nearly seemed to glow with his defiance, and... Anakin would never admit it, because it sounded melodramatic, even to him...

Majesty.

On some planet  _somewhere_ , the name  _Kenobi_ was royalty.

“I bear the collar of the Sith, but you have never been ashamed of me as a lover, or had reason to despise me. And now I have lost  _one_ battle. As if Sidious has never made you get down on your knees and beg.” Now fury sparkled in Obi-Wan's eyes, and he stepped right on into Dooku's space. “There are those who embody power, and those who crave it, and I may not embody it yet, but you  _know_ I seek it.”

A weathered hand came up, caressed Obi-Wan's cheek.

Anakin still wasn't sure Obi-Wan would survive, that Dooku wouldn't just impale him  _now_ and leave him convulsing, bleeding out on the floor as the Count dabbed the blood from his hilt with a fancy-ass kerchief—

Dooku shocked them all, Obi-Wan clearly included, when he leaned in and caught Obi-Wan's lips in a chaste, firm kiss.

_I thought he wasn't into public displays of affection—?_

Dooku pulled back, kept his hand on Obi-Wan's face, keeping Obi-Wan's head tipped so far back to look up into his face. “You will not survive long,” the deep voice murmured, and it sounded  _regretful_ of the fact. “But let none say that your fire and courage failed you, in the final hour.”

Obi-Wan stared back into his eyes, then gave a nod at last, and walked away, heading into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Qui-Gon looked to his former master. “You will not fight for him?”  
“It is not the Sith way, my Qui-Gon. He must fight for himself, but I will not be the one to slide the blade home, unless I were the only one left to carry out such a duty.” A smile quirked Dooku's lips. “And in such an eventuality, where Obi-Wan destroyed every other threat to himself, he would have proven himself, and no longer require being cleansed from the presence of the lords.”

_I am not sure I want to be here. At all._

Anakin looked to the bathroom.

_What would it have been like, to grow up in his place?_

Anakin felt a shiver run down his spine.

_But I was right about one thing. He_ does  _have people invested in him, even if they're people who care only because of what Obi-Wan gives them._

Perhaps Maul and Dooku were not currently willing to fight for him...

But it might not end up taking much to draw them to want to, and from there...

To choose to.

Depending on who in frip's name  _Sidious_ called master.

Because if that master was too terrifying....

_Obi-Wan really might be fed to the wolves, to maintain the purity of the dark orders._

And at that point, standing by him might get Anakin killed as well.

 

* * *

 

Dooku had taken many lovers in his time, but Obi-Wan was something else. At first he had just been available and _there,_ and then it became clear Obi-Wan was clever and moulded himself to fit the Sith he was with at any given time.

In another being, Dooku might have dismissed it as weakness, but in a pleasure slave it was a truly delightful trait.

Feemor had never managed to please  _all_ of them, and had been reduced to something to  _hit_ and  _kick_ as a result. If no other entertainment could be had out of him, Sith would find amusement  _somehow._

Dooku had never taken part in it, it seemed rather undignified, but Obi-Wan had a shifting, chameleon-like beauty. With Dooku he was ever masculine, strong, reserved, haughty, even. With Maul he was like a playful animal. For Sidious, Obi-Wan's beauty seemed almost feminine, a delicate and fragile thing resting in trust within the radius of death that could snap his bones and spill his blood.

“What options does he have?” Qui-Gon asked in a murmur, trying to keep from being heard by the slave in the refresher.

Obi-Wan was not there out of need; he was veiling himself for now. Dooku wasn't entirely sure to what purpose, but if a man could not retain control of his features and presence, then absenting himself was the best course of action—

And Obi-Wan believed it just as firmly as Dooku.

Unlike the  _mess_ Skywalker who sat moodily staring at the floor.

“Honestly?” Qui-Gon prodded.

Dooku frowned.

Part of him insisted this was not his problem; he did not need to turn his energies in the direction of saving Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The other part of him whispered that when the slave was gone, lying cold and dead on the floor, Dooku would find the nights long, and the days lonely in his absence. And while a Sith did not quail at the thought of such suffering, Dooku  _had_ endured plenty in his time, and was looking toward an end of everything, at some point in the not  _very_ distant future.

Protecting a weak thing weakened the protector.  _But if I was not protecting, just helped with strategy..._

“How it stands now, he looks incompetent, incapable, and weak.” Dooku did not bother to lower his voice the way Qui-Gon had. He spoke quietly, but certainly could be heard by the slave. “His image of being willing for anything has been smashed, and they all know he was unable to protect himself. It will invite aggression until the point of death— an escalation that might happen within seconds of his returning to the house— unless he makes a bold and shocking declaration of his own strength.”

“Like taking an apprentice or being taken as one?” So-called “Vader” asked.

Dooku shook his head. “That will be seen as a step of unearned arrogance, and  _protection._ The one who made him look weak and who nearly slew him is not available for him to kill, so something else, drastic, must be done.”

“How important is Frost?” Anakin asked. “He's the next in line to be abusive, right? So what if Obi-Wan murdered Frost?”

Dooku grimaced. “Frost is a petulant child, tolerated because he amuses Xanatos. While that would put a swift, preemptive end to Frost's inevitable attempt to mimic Krell, it would impress no one. I don't think anyone doubts that if Obi-Wan chose and retained the element of surprise, Frost would die. Nothing would be proved.”

“What if...” Qui-Gon had that awful scheming look in his face, the one that usually resulted in the most banal of ideas that only occasionally even _worked_. “What if you returned to the house, brought Anakin with you. You found him, did not find Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan claims Krell's sabers as his rightful trophies, beats me up a bit— I know he wants to— and then hauls me in and presents me as a gift to you.”

Dooku stared at his apprentice in absolute befuddlement. “Explain.”

“I would be your possession, and therefore somewhat protected. Obi-Wan will have subdued and humiliated the Jedi who interrupted his struggle with Krell.”

Dooku shook his head. “I do not think you realize what it would entail. The humiliation would have to be  _real._ You do not know what Obi-Wan would do to ensure the success of this ploy.”

“It could only be a fraction of what he has had to endure, because of my choices.”

“It could mean something sexual, Qui-Gon,” Dooku snapped. “Until he placed your leash in my hands, he could do  _anything,_ and for you to resist would be to undo the entire plan. Do you stand ready to pleasure Sidious, if that's what Obi-Wan demands?”

But that  _stubborn_ look was gleaming in Qui-Gon's eye, and Dooku  _knew_ that look.

Skywalker looked up, alarmed. “Master, you  _can't._ ”

“Why not? Three of my apprentices had to endure slavery. Am I so much  _better_ that I shouldn't have to?”

“You underestimate both Obi-Wan and Sidious,” Dooku warned. “Obi-Wan will do whatever it takes to ensure his place. He is not the gentle child you abandoned, Qui-Gon. He holds a capacity for ruthlessness you have not—”

“If Obi-Wan does it, brings me in, utterly humiliated, and then makes a present of me to you,  _will it save him_ ?”

“Do you have any idea what the life of a pet is?” Dooku demanded. His  _foolish_ apprentice— “If you attempt to alert the Jedi—”

“I already went over this. I will not change my mind, master.”

“You will have less authority than even the frip-boy, and that is  _not_ a position to—”

“Yes, yes, Master. I will discover if I truly have Jedi humility, or if I've been lying through my teeth all this time. But I will be  _present,_ with you, and Anakin, and Xanatos, and Obi-Wan, and I will  _stay with you_ until you are happy.”

Dooku shook his head. “You underestimate the hatred of both Obi-Wan and Xanatos. Neither will thank you for your interference.”

“So be it.”

“So Obi-Wan has proven himself,” Dooku murmured. “Has used every weapon at his disposal except a violent one, and cut through all your pride and resistance. Half of the people in that house will have tested blades against you at some point or another, or plotted against you in battle. None of them brought you to heel. But Obi-Wan, without lifting a weapon, has. There will be no need for ruse. He has already won.” An ache opened up in Dooku's heart, cruel and awful. Qui-Gon did not know what he had surrendered to, and it would be ugly before the end, but Dooku found himself looking into those stubborn blue eyes and respecting Obi-Wan's conquest.

Qui-Gon would not attempt escape, would not call the Jedi down on them. He would walk in behind Obi-Wan, tame.

“Come, Vader. Leave Obi-Wan your saber belt, Force knows he'll need it. This is not for us to witness.”

Skywalker stood, but balked. “He wanted to  _kill you,_ Master. And now I'm supposed to leave the two of you alone? With you  _submitting?_ ”

“Anakin...” Qui-Gon moved to him, placed his palm to the child's cheek.

Tears started to Skywalker's eyes.

“Whatever happens next, I need you to let it play out. If you have to leave the room, then do so, but whatever is required, I will pay.”

“This isn't— this isn't what I wanted.”

“Anakin... Order 66 would have killed me too.”

“You don't know that...”

“Anakin. I don't know how Sidious' plan faltered, but I  _feel_ it in my soul that I am living past the time that was set for me. The Force has granted me more days, and there are people I hurt while trying to pursue my career. It's time for me to face them.”

“Xanatos looks  _dead inside,_ ” Anakin protested, sounding terrified. “And Obi-Wan is... don't let him kill you.”

Dooku shrugged. “No one would believe Obi-Wan bested Qui-Gon Jinn in combat. If he returned with Qui-Gon's head, everyone will assume Qui-Gon allowed it, out of guilt. It will gain him nothing. And I do not believe Obi-Wan desires to run all his life.”

The bathroom door slid open and Obi-Wan emerged.

“No,” he agreed, voice cold. “I do not.”

“It's alright,” Qui-Gon whispered to Vader.

_It will not be. But perhaps they will be resilient enough to survive._

Xanatos might not be. Dooku understood far more than the statue of a god hoped he did.

And Xanatos was no longer a wayward child. There was a venom in him now, and between this room and Dooku's possession, there was time when he would have authority.

Dooku would not be able to remain present, for that. He would leave, perhaps drag Vader out by an ear, and put distance between them and the house.

Perhaps Qui-Gon would be able to put the pieces of himself together, once in the relative safety of Dooku's care.

Perhaps not.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon watched Dooku and Anakin leave, then turned his attention to Obi-Wan.

There was a suspicious sneer present on the beautiful face.

“You will change your mind, soon enough. You'll catch up your saber and go, and leave me to the fate you and Krell prepared for me.”

“Obi-Wan, make sure you have a plan for when this Frost comes after you. Bringing me in won't be enough for him, if what everyone has said holds true.”

“Oh, I will  _handle_ Frost. A besalisk is well beyond the physical strength of  _any_ human, but Bruck is simply a man. An entitled one. Rather like you, except you use fair words to hide it and Bruck does not have the intelligence for even that much.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head in acceptance of the fury.

“You will wish to die,” Obi-Wan continued, voice calm. “And you will be forced into things that will drive Tyranus from the room. He loves you, but he will not save you, and he will not watch. Until you are his, your pleasure is  _ours._ You will end up in a bacta tank, to survive injuries. Krell fripped me with his saber hilt. I will do the same to you, with  _your_ saber.”

Fear began to build in Qui-Gon's heart, but he held firm.

“If you so much as hesitate when I give you an order in that house, I will gut you. You had your chance to destroy me, and I  _will not allow it_ this time.”

“I understand.”

A cruel sneer twisted Obi-Wan's lips. “No. You don't. But you will.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

There were fewer people than Qui-Gon had expected, when Obi-Wan led him back into the clearing where they had first encountered.

Dooku and Anakin were conspicuously absent.

Ventress, the lost initiate Bruck, Palpatine, and Xanatos.

Qui-Gon already felt woozy from the beating Obi-Wan had given him back in the inn.

It had been brutal, knowing, designed to leave Qui-Gon limping and visibly damaged.

Obi-Wan had demanded he leave behind his tunics, and had clipped three sabers to Anakin's belt.

Qui-Gon tried to imagine one of those inside him, and suppressed a shudder.

He expected it to be hell.

_A hell my lost padawan has already endured._

Palpatine stood with an unconvinced scowl. Xanatos was a marble statue, nothing to be discerned from body or the Force. Bruck stood beside him, trying to look tough, but definitely unsure about what in hell's name was happening.

“You seem to have convinced lords Tyranus and Vader,” Palpatine said. “But you will find I am far more difficult to deceive. Your precious master, come to save you at last, and look at the obvious bruises he's suffered to convince us of his capture. Except I know you, pet, and I know you could never have bested Qui-Gon Jinn in battle.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “I didn't.” He turned to Qui-Gon, with a hate in his eyes that was all too real, and murmured, “Strip the rest of the way.”

_None of this is new. My Feemor has endured it, and my Obi-Wan._

He could too.

Qui-Gon shed his leggings and undershorts, standing naked in the grass, barefoot, hands unbound.

“Is this to impress us?” Ventress asked, “Or wreck our appetite for dinner? Because I'm feeling just a bit nauseous.”

Obi-Wan ignored her, placing his hand on the back of Qui-Gon's neck and putting pressure there.

Obeying it, Qui-Gon went to his knees, and from there to his hands. _Oh, gods._

A choked breath startled into Xanatos, and Qui-Gon thought he looked pale enough he might faint away.

_What is happening with him?_

“Not all power is in winning an arm wrestle with a besalisk.” Obi-Wan looked to Palpatine, insolence in his eyes. “As my lord well knows.”

“Perhaps, then, your mistake was in accepting combat.”

A sneer touched Obi-Wan's lip again. “Perhaps. Perhaps you wanted to see me gasp for life, and find some other way to prove I am not pathetic.”

“I'm still waiting.”

“Then see the man who killed Krell. He came with me willingly.”

Palpatine spread his hands wide. “And if I do not believe he is truly subdued? The mighty General Jinn has been captured before, and it has never  _meant_ very much.”

“That is why I brought him here, to be made use of, before I have him healed and I give him to Tyranus.”

“ _You_ give,” Palpatine repeated, amusement in his voice.

Obi-Wan's lip curled in a feral grin. “ _I_ give.”

“This isn't strength,” Bruck protested, looking disgusted.

Palpatine looked to him with keen, serpent's eyes. “And could you have led the Jedi's prized master here and stripped him of his clothing with the docility we're seeing? Kenobi will always be your superior, even if that means little in the grand scheme of things.”

Bruck clearly cowed, gaze falling away and his mouth snapping shut.

“Lord Sidious, he is bruised and stripped, but he does not understand the meaning of humiliation.” Obi-Wan shrugged and took a step back, away from Qui-Gon. “You are certainly the master of taking apart a man.”

Palpatine chuckled. “Pet,” he crooned. “This is a bold move, and it pleases me. But you do recognize your gamble. If he is not so devoted to you that he submits, if he so much as flinches away, your life is forfeit.”

“I am aware.” Again, the fury, the  _hate_ running through that voice. “I would request you brutalize him.” 

Palpatine walked forward, and the disapproval was melting away from him like the sun drying morning dew. “Pet, your hatred is so pure, so distilled. So focused. You make me regret again that the Force did not endow you with power enough to train, for you are beautiful in your darkness.”

“I  _do_ have enough power to deserve to be returned to my place,” Obi-Wan said, determined and unwavering.

“I begin to think that might be true.” A hand reached down, stroked over Qui-Gon's long hair. “Well, Jedi Master Jinn. How much do you really feel you owe my whore?”

 

* * *

 

Sidious did not take Qui-Gon's ass, though clearly the man expected it.

Sidious  _did_ use the Force to close Qui-Gon's throat, to press him right up to the point of death, watching the blood vessels break in his eyes, and the dismay, the wondering if he  _would die_ .

There was a stirring in Obi-Wan, a purring in the Force, a yearning for Sidious to actually finish it.

No conspiracy there, at least. And Qui-Gon, wondering if he might die...

Did nothing to fight back.

Sidious released him, and then drew the gasping mouth over his cock. “Thank me for your life,” Sidious murmured.

Jinn was inept, carried the telltale signs of having pleasured women, clearly had no idea what to do with a cock in his mouth, but Sidious let him try, and watched as Jinn worried about being good enough, acceptable enough, to keep Obi-Wan  _alive—_

Sidious turned his eyes to Obi-Wan's face, porcelain and devious.

Qui-Gon Jinn was slaved to Obi-Wan Kenobi at the deepest possible level.

Guilt and debt.

And Obi-Wan felt no compunction about using said weapons to protect himself.

_Well done._

If he could fend off any others seeking to maintain the purity of the darkness, then Obi-Wan would live. Live, and continue to be the delicious and soul-refreshing creature that he was.

Sidious pulled away from Qui-Gon. It wasn't particularly pleasurable, and there was another who deserved that place.

“Pet,” Sidious murmured, and Obi-Wan was there, just inches in front of Jinn, on his knees, hands petting up and down Sidious' thighs, and then that clever mouth did what Qui-Gon's could not.

Just to remind everyone present the dominance order, however, Sidious seized Obi-Wan's head with his hand, stilling it, forcing it down, and then Sidious ravaged Obi-Wan's mouth, thrusting into a throat that went lax to receive him.

Sidious held out his other hand, and Obi-Wan slipped his pale hand into it, limp and willing. As trusting as the darkness ever could get.

With Sidious' particular skill set, it didn't take much to slide into Obi-Wan's mind, a familiar process that the slave shuddered under, and then Sidious toyed with the bond that used to be there, between master and apprentice.

Sidious slid through that, found the place where it had once entered Qui-Gon's mind, and there, pricked through Qui-Gon's shields.

Obi-Wan, conduit and filled, whimpered at the burn in his mind, his throat convulsing around Sidious' length, his mind doing something very similar.

It took no effort at all to locate Qui-Gon's pleasure controls, deep within the chemicals of his brain, and to flick one—

He could sense Qui-Gon's shock and horror at feeling his own arousal—

Obi-Wan choked, just a bit, fingers tightening against Sidious's palm, but not demanding, or even asking, relief.

Sidious sent himself into orgasm, pulling out and splashing on Obi-Wan's face, in his eyes, and the pain of the sting of it was clear through the Force.

At the same moment, he flicked the second receptor, and Qui-Gon was coming, shocked, bewildered—

Sidious squeezed tight the hand he still held. “You are ours,” he murmured, low enough only the two kneeling before him could hear, and staring Obi-Wan in the murky, assaulted eyes.

Obi-Wan's thumb caressed his skin, and Obi-Wan leaned up to press a kiss to Sidious' hand. The body was making natural tears to fend off the pain in his eyes, and those tears made Sidious smile.

Yes.

Obi-Wan had proven himself worthy of keeping life a while longer.

“Ventress, you may leave. Ire, it is your decision whether young Frost should have him or if Obi-Wan may immediately ruin his ass with a hilt, the way he intends.”

Obi-Wan's entire body shivered as Sidious withdrew his mind from him, and there was that brief heartbeat of protest, right before Sidious left entirely.

_Jinn_ is  _a fool, if he thinks he can save one who so desperately craves all we have to offer._

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon knelt, and began to understand why Dooku had looked so stern in the inn. Why Dooku was not here to witness.

Why this plan would work in the first place.

Palpatine and Ventress walked away, and Xanatos stood frozen.

“Master?” Bruck asked, eyes narrowed and demanding. “Do I get to?”

“You may have Obi-Wan,” Xanatos dismissed.

Bruck scowled. “But the _Jedi—_ ”

“Is not for you,” Xanatos replied. “Not yet. Now go take what you want, or leave.”

Bruck stormed over, moved to strike Obi-Wan with a raised fist.

Qui-Gon held still, though he wanted to  _act—_

Then there was blood, and the white-haired man was screaming, and Obi-Wan was smiling, and Bruck staggered away, stumbling into the trees, headed undoubtedly for the house.

Xanatos did not seem to notice or care.

Qui-Gon watched him, bewildered, as Xanatos still did not move.

Obi-Wan sat down, bracing one arm on his raised knees, and with the other, wiping at his eyes.

“Xani,” Qui-Gon murmured. His beautiful child had grown into a stunning adult, though Qui-Gon did not understand this  _statue._

_If you hate me as much as Dooku and Obi-Wan seem to think you do—_

Xanatos turned around, and nearly tottered away.

A flash of surprise within Obi-Wan caught Qui-Gon's attention.

_He expected... something. Something more._

Obi-Wan shrugged, unhooked Qui-Gon's saber.

“There is no one left to watch,” Qui-Gon pointed out, timidly.

Obi-Wan laughed, and the sound was cruel. “You thought witnesses were required? Never fear. They will feel it through the Force, understand the threat. I could not do this to Krell; so I have done it on the man who remains available. I will  _not_ be so used again.”

 

* * *

 

“I don't understand.” Anakin was shaking. He could sense his former master's agony, though he tried to block it out.  _It will be over, and then he will be safe._ “How can Obi-Wan, who knows... so  _intimately_ what it is to be abused, do that to someone else?”

“ _You_ ask this?” Dooku asked, looking surprised. “You know what it is to be helpless and young and lose a mother. So you killed those who deprived you of her, and then you took their children, and made each one of them lose  _their_ mothers, and then, at the pinnacle of their grief and terror, you killed those innocents too. And yet you ask why Obi-Wan needs to do this?”

Anakin's gaze fell and the air he drew into his lungs felt like acid, it hurt so much.

_This... this is the way of darkness. To take your pain, and stuff it down someone else's throat. Sometimes of one who deserves it, and sometimes... those who don't._

Palpatine had fostered a romanticized view of the darkness in Anakin's mind.

_I... I don't find this very..._

Somewhere in the distance, Qui-Gon screamed in agony.

Anakin closed his eyes against tears that wanted to fall.

_Why am I here? I just want to go home to Padmé. Oh, gods, I just want to go home._

 

* * *

 

Anakin had wandered far, trying to outpace his doubts.

He'd seen ravines, waterfalls, fields of wildflowers...

He returned hours later and checked in on Qui-Gon, who hung suspended, and unattended, in bacta.

A little sign had been propped up at the base of the tank, spelling out clearly:

_**Dooku's.** _

Anakin pressed his palm to the glass for a moment, eyeing the wounds clearly visible up Qui-Gon's bare ass.

_ I think I hate this place, master. I think... _

_ And now we're  _ both  _ stuck here. _

 

_* * *_

 

Qui-Gon came to lying on a low pallet in a luxurious boudoir.

Every bone in his body hurt, and his eyelids felt heavy. He didn't particularly want to move.

Obi-Wan hadn't come. Not when Sidious used them both, and not after, when he...

That had held a near-clinical viciousness, and Obi-Wan hadn't once touched his own, or Qui-Gon's, genitalia.

It hadn't been about pleasure. It had been Obi-Wan making a statement, and  _oh_ Qui-Gon hoped it had been made.

Dooku stood over him, looking down, expression gentle. “I expected Chun, Xanatos, and Obi-Wan to have at your ass, and  _then_ for Obi-Wan to take that hilt to you. I am surprised by how much you were spared.”

“Xanatos froze up. Chun tried to buffet Obi-Wan, and then there was blood.”

“A knife in the balls will do that.” Dooku looked amused. “Chun will be limping for a few days, and I doubt he will attempt to Krell Obi-Wan any time soon.”

_Ah. Krell is a verb now._

Qui-Gon sat up, felt lingering pains inside, outside. “Am I sexually subservient to them all now? I seem to be in your chambers?”

“You are mine now. Anyone who wishes to take you in some way from me will first consider if they can match my wrath. One does not steal from a Sith lightly. I give you permission to fend off, with however much prejudice you wish, any assault against your person, unless it is made by Sidious, or Sidious' superiors. I can save you from many things, Qui-Gon, but death at Sidious' hand is not one of them.”

Qui-Gon tried to hide his relief. The thought of Bruck having some measure of authority over him had been... vile...

“Is Obi-Wan accepted again?” Qui-Gon asked.

Dooku nodded. “His place is secured.”

A door slid open, and Qui-Gon turned his head to the noise, saw Obi-Wan. He wore a thin black...  _drape,_ Qui-Gon decided, down the front, from throat to floor, and that was that. Obi-Wan sent him a quiet, uninterested glance, and came to stand beside Dooku.

“You may go explore the gardens, Qui-Gon, or meditate, act as medic for the wildlife, read any of the books you desire; but your presence in these rooms is not required for a time.”

Qui-Gon managed to stand, feeling just a little bit wobbly from clear time in a bacta tank, and just a bit nauseated, from the fact that Dooku was dismissing him so he could...

Qui-Gon made a brief nod, and stepped to a sliding door that led out into the gardens.

Once the door shut behind him he glanced back, saw Dooku and Obi-Wan moving from Dooku's private sitting room to the bedroom.

_I... don't know if I will ever become accustomed to that._

Sighing, Qui-Gon took careful steps down the gravel, peering at the various plants as he went.

 

* * *

 

“You brought Qui-Gon home, and he is willing to  _stay,_ ” Dooku murmured into Obi-Wan's ear, and Obi-Wan shuddered against the still-clothed count.

Obi-Wan had thought he would no longer have  _this,_ with these people—

He leaned up, hands resting on Dooku's powerful biceps, and opened his mouth into a kiss.

Now that Obi-Wan did not have to fear for his life more than the usual amount, the sex could resume.

And that was good news indeed.

 

* * *

 

Anakin had spent time, a  _ lot  _ of time, trying to write another letter to Padmé. 

He'd never managed to  _ send  _ one, because he scrapped each one after recognizing how... inadequate... it was.

It didn't keep him from trying again now.

_ I want to see my children,  _ he wrote, then realized she would fixate on the  _ my,  _ snarl something about  _ our— _

_ I want to see our children,  _ he tried, but  _ want  _ was such a bland word, the same word you used for  _ I want nerf steaks for dinner,  _ and it didn't encompass the agonized  _ hole  _ in his heart, knowing his— their— babies were  _ alive  _ and  _ real  _ and  _ born  _ and he couldn't hold them.

_I would never hurt them,_ he swore. _Never._ _I love them, Padmé. I love them so much I think I might die._

It was true, dear  _ Force  _ was it true, but he read the line, thought it sounded petulant and overdramatic, so he scrunched up that piece of flimsi too, and threw it in the wastebin.

He needed to do something else.

Maybe find out if Obi-Wan had plans for hurting Qui-Gon more, or if he was done.

Not long later, and after a brief conversation with a maid— they had paid  _maids_ here?— Anakin peered in the open doorway of the room that had been specified as “the young whore's.”

Which at the time had made him turn pink, recognizing the woman thought he was searching for Obi-Wan for... something other than what Anakin  _was_ searching for him for.

He saw Obi-Wan sitting at a little table, setting kybers, four bled ones and one pure, clear one, into dangles from a black band. On the table lay crumpled shards of three lightsabers.

“New collar?” Anakin asked, stepping into the room.

He recognized the one crystal, as clear as a diamond.  _Qui-Gon's._

At least... at least Obi-Wan hadn't bled it.

It was mournful at being separated from its person, but it wasn't weeping, like all of Krell's.

“Gift from Tyranus,” Obi-Wan replied, sounding pleased, and setting the last of the kybers in place. He lifted the finished piece, and Anakin would have found it pretty, if it hadn't been a symbol of slavery. If the kybers didn't look like drops of blood, slipping from the collar and his throat.

“Latch it, please?” Obi-Wan put it up to his neck, then turned his back so Anakin could fasten it. The drape that hung from his throat down his front had _nothing_ behind, just a near-transparent band at the waist to make walking easier, and to not have the full weight hanging on his neck.

Still. Even with those clear bands at neck and waist, he looked like a naked man. Asking for a symbol of slavery.

Anakin hesitated, heart in his throat.

This was no necklace.

His fingers moved, complied, pushed over the catch so it held.

_He is a slave whether or not I help him with the symbol of it,_ Anakin justified.

“Now, Lord Vader, would you like to tell me why you're here, since I don't think it's for sex?” Obi-Wan turned around, watching him with knowing gray eyes.

Anakin shrugged, looked around the room.

It was just as richly appointed as his own, with nothing to suggest Obi-Wan held a... far  _lesser_ station than the rest of those who lived here.

“Do the serving staff get used for sex?” Anakin asked.

“No. There are a handful of caretakers for the house— I couldn't possibly keep it clean  _and_ keep everyone sated all at once. And there are the gardeners. They're paid, and no one pays much mind to them. One of the gardeners is in love with Savage, though. If you hear grunting through the hedge maze, maybe look the other way. She's a shy little thing, and startles when they're interrupted.”

Anakin nodded, trying to pretend nonchalance. “Thought Savage has a mate.”

“Ventress. It is a matter of dominance and service, and on ceremonial occasions, pleasure. Some day, for offspring, but the day Ventress gives birth to a living girl-child and heir is the day Savage is put to death, and neither of them are particularly rushing that day closer.”

“Not because Ventress cares,” Anakin asserted.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows shot up. “Ventress? Care for Savage? No. She finds his allegiance useful for her own pursuit of power. And it's a status thing, among the Nightclans.”

“And Qui-Gon? What is Qui-Gon's fate?”

“Whatever Tyranus chooses.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “I suspect that will be the role of companion, for as long as Jinn can stand it. Tyranus has always enjoyed his conversation, and has missed him for some time now.”

Anakin's next question came out a little hesitant. “I suppose you're pleased, to have a new person to sexually explore?”

“I'm indifferent. I do not like him, but this is hardly the first time I have shared the house with someone I dislike. I was able to use him to strengthen my position here, and Krell is dead. I see these things as good. I have no interest in sex with him, it seems like it would be pointlessly unpleasant. I have plenty of others to choose from, even with you withholding your charms.” Obi-Wan sent him a pout that almost made Anakin feel guilty, until he remembered what they were talking about.

_No. I'm not going to have sex with you_ just  _because everyone else does._

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Dooku prized his dignity, his quiet. His masculinity.

No frail forest creature, no pretending to be someone he was not, no passivity or submission— none of that was desired.

Here, _here,_ Obi-Wan almost felt like a real person, with a lover.

There was almost no pretending, here.

Dooku didn't usually frip slaves. Obi-Wan was an exception, and within the hidden dark of the bedroom— for Dooku always preferred the lights to be out, or candles only— he wasn't treated like a slave, but with a dignity as well.

Dooku only occasionally desired to penetrate, and never to be penetrated. He also disliked oral sex, finding it... uncouth. Calloused fingers and truly luscious kisses,  _yes._ Much yes.

Intercrural sex was also something Dooku _did_ like, and liked very much. Obi-Wan's slick and powerful thighs drew Dooku in a way Obi-Wan's karkhole never could.

Hushed breaths, quiet smiles, more kisses.

The moans and overdrawn displays of pleasure had their place elsewhere.

Here, both knew what they enjoyed, and neither felt a need to butter up the other's ego.

That first time after Obi-Wan's brush with death, that first time Qui-Gon had been dismissed, Dooku  _had_ filled his ass.

Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure why, but for long moments after they had come, Dooku lay there in the dark, an arm tight around Obi-Wan's middle, simply holding him close.

Things had returned to normalcy in the liaisons with Dooku since then, though.

 

* * *

 

Xanatos was a wreck.

He didn't want sex.

He just wanted Obi-Wan to sit there on the bed while Xanatos paced, near rabid in his alarm and terrible, ill-advised hope and  _very_ reasonable terror.

Qui-Gon was finally,  _finally_ in a place where Xanatos could reach him. Could... attempt to woo him.

“But he will not see me, he has  _never_ seen  _me,_ ” Xanatos fretted, not quite wringing his hands, but Obi-Wan wouldn't be surprised if it started before all this was over. “If I simply demand sex of him, he will never  _love_ me, but if I take a misstep in the seduction, he will never love me either, and if I don't try at all, then he'll  _never love me._ ”

Tears flooded ice-blue eyes, a porcelain face flinched, black hair scattered about his shoulders in a disarray that somehow, even the heights of distress, still looked attractive.

When Obi-Wan was that disheveled and distraught, he looked like  _kark._

Xanatos looked like a god, even in his anxiety.

It wasn't a fair thing, and it might not all be a  _natural_ thing, but Obi-Wan didn't particularly resent it. Though he did wonder if Xanatos had snot come out of his nose when he cried.

_Scratch that, I know the answer._

Yes, he did.

“What if he looks at me and  _knows_ I crave him? What if he pities me for it? Pities me because he  _cannot love me,_ but he  _knows I need him?_ ”

“You won't know until you try,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

Xanatos turned to look at him, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an awful curiosity. “I am petrified with terror. It is not something I have ever experienced before.”

“You're feeling something about someone other than vague curiosity, disgust, or hate that they got in your way. You seem disconcerted by it.”

Xanatos stared down at his hands, as if they might not belong to him. “I want his affection. I have never cared if anyone  _liked_ me so long as they did what I said.”

_Lord Ire, because his strongest emotion has ever been annoyance with the incompetents who stumble into his path._

Except for his rabid obsession with Qui-Gon Jinn.

“Have you ever desired romantic affection so strongly?” Xanatos asked, lifting his eyes again, searching Obi-Wan with eyes, and the Force.

Obi-Wan's breath caught as Xanatos slipped in between his shields, his presence cool and smooth where Palpatine's was an ice-cold that  _burned._ A near-sexual moan trembled from Obi-Wan's lips as Xanatos looked around, lingered over the child Obi-Wan had been, desperately loving Qui-Gon Jinn, but it wasn't the sort of love Xanatos sought, so he turned away from it, though clearly reluctant.

Obi-Wan had never sexually desired Qui-Gon Jinn.

Possibly because by the time puberty fully hit, he already hated the man's guts and was _far_ away.

Xanatos rummaged through Obi-Wan's experiences and emotions concerning Maul, found some affection, certainly. They were mates, after all, bound together by the Force and the laws of nature itself.

But it wasn't love, exactly.

Xanatos pulled out and Obi-Wan fell back on the bed, half-erect and aching, his mind whimpering at being alone in his skull once more.

Xanatos moved closer, peered down at the fabric nudged aside by Obi-Wan's cock. He frowned. “This isn't good enough anymore. I must have the reality.”

“Certainly, if you can get him,” Obi-Wan replied, still a bit winded, his chest heaving. “Lord Tyranus intimated he granted Jinn the authority to fight back against use, though. He won't submit to you.”

“I don't want  _him_ to submit,” Xanatos returned, sounding just a tad petulant. “I want him to  _love_ me.”

_Well, the man is clearly a fool. Maybe he'll actually fall for you._

If knowing Xanatos as a person didn't remove any desire towards the pointless beauty Xanatos possessed.

Who knew if Xanatos' fixation would last beyond achieving the object of his desire? Once Qui-Gon loved him, owned him, fripped him, would Xanatos tire of it within the first few years?

Sooner?

That might be entertaining, actually. To watch Qui-Gon fall in love with a man Obi-Wan wasn't entirely sure  _could_ love, despite his desperate fixation on Qui-Gon Jinn. To watch Jinn's heart crumble when Xanatos turned on him or simply walked away.

Xanatos' fixation with his home planet had ended soon enough, after he  _possessed_ Telos.

_I wonder if there's a way I can facilitate this._

 

* * *

 

Bruck was waddling around, when he moved at all.

It amused Ventress to no end.

Enough so that she decided to make use of Obi-Wan against the outer wall of Bruck's room, when she knew the injured Sith was trying to sleep.

Obi-Wan obliged, placing her back against the wall, allowing thumps, and in response to Ventress' exaggerated moans, Obi-Wan chimed in.

He could play that game.

After long minutes, where Ventress could barely control her glee and fripped herself against Obi-Wan with quite the will, the door slid open, revealing Lord Frost in his nightgown, hunched and glowering.

Obi-Wan sent him a grin, then “choked” on pleasure, as Ventress yipped and wailed  _yes, yes_ in a way she never did without purpose.

Bruck's shoulders sagged, and he just gave them a tired,  _really?!_ look which both of his peers found eminently amusing.

Out of the five of them of vaguely similar age— Obi-Wan, Ventress, Maul, Savage, and Bruck— Ventress honestly cared for none of them, and only made use of Obi-Wan occasionally, in very specific situations.

But hassling Bruck?

That was something Ventress was eminently interested in accomplishing.

Bruck didn't even bother to protest. He turned around, shut the door, and stumbled back to bed.

Ventress tapped her finger against Obi-Wan's head, and oh  _gods_ it hurt when she did that. The room seemed to spin and he staggered back a step, pulling free of her, head reeling in pain—

He regained equilibrium as Ventress finished herself off with her fingers, silent, swift, with a careless expression, and then closed her pants.

With only a quiet glance of smug lack of interest, Ventress walked away, leaving Obi-Wan hard, somewhat messy, and not at all  _close_ to done.

Sidious was studying, had left directions not to be disturbed. Even if the house burned down.

Tyranus had locked himself away with Jinn, for an evening of talk and tea brewing.

With Ventress having lost interest, Xanatos in a tizzy, and Bruck in far too much pain to frip, Obi-Wan would have to rely on his own hand, or...

_Hmm._

 

* * *

 

Anakin had found the wine.

That seemed to be it, in this house. Ever increasingly fancy and valuable bottles of wine.

Anakin was not a wine person. He'd been told by people who  _knew,_ that his taste in wine was absolute kark.

All he knew was that some tasted good, kind of sweet, and the rest just wasn't all that nice.

The not nice stuff was the rich people's stuff, apparently.

There were a few bottles of absinthe tucked away, and he wondered just who liked it, since there clearly wasn't much demand.

Qui-Gon wouldn't appreciate it. He liked Alderaanian brandy.

Anakin was determined to get drunk, and he'd heard from Quinlan that absinthe turned you hyper, clear-focused and with a drive to accomplish  _work._

Not exactly what he was looking for.

He didn't need to clean the house from top to bottom. Force.

Quinlan had been disappointed in the telling. He'd been sold on a myth that it caused hallucinations, and the Kiffar had been seeking that out specifically. He didn't appreciate how much genuine work his brain got done while under the influence.

He'd been really skeeved, actually.

So Anakin avoided the absinthe and grabbed up a few bottles of the stuff that he guessed to be the cheapest of it all, though, in all honesty... it was all  _horrifically_ fancy. None of it might taste good. But at least it wasn't stuff locked away, it was clearly meant to be actually  _used,_ so. He shouldn't get in trouble.

He hustled back to his room, heard sounds of sex from a nearby corridor— a female voice and a male—

_Great._

He reached the safety of his ridiculous room... _rooms_ ... realized he'd forgotten to grab a cup, and shrugged, plopping himself on the carpet.

He didn't feel like he'd gotten very far when his door slid open and Obi-Wan stepped in, entirely naked.

Anakin's eyes bugged. Obi-Wan's cock glistened, fully erect, and Obi-Wan's eyes were glassy with need.

“Still straight,” Anakin piped up, taking another swig from the bottle.

“I need to be fripped,” Obi-Wan replied blatantly.

Anakin choked on the wine, spewing it onto the carpet, fortunately of a color that wouldn't stain from it.

“You're tight wound from not having whoever it is you  _want_ to be tooling, and I don't mind if I'm just a hot sleeve for you. You're not attracted to your hand, either, or probably to any sleeve toy. Just fripping do me, Vader.”

Oh, this was bad. This was really bad.

This was...

Anakin's balls weren't comfortable. That wasn't fair.

And neither was Obi-Wan moving so close, kneeling to offer his ass without a view of Obi-Wan's face—

_Gods, I miss Padmé._

Anakin heaved a sigh. It wasn't fair.

_Padmé may have thrown me aside, simply for murder and treason, but that doesn't mean I'll be unfaithful to her for such light reasons as a divorce._

Padmé was his still, he just... had to wait until she'd cooled down a bit.

So when Obi-Wan tried to lower his bottom onto Anakin's lap, Anakin simply set the bottle down, sprawled prone onto his back, and then rolled over to hide his pant-fasteners against the carpet.

Actually felt nice, like this. The soft warm carpet strands against his cheek, cradling his wide-spread arms.

Might just stay a while.

Obi-Wan made an annoyed, growly noise. “You're not drunk enough to  _not want sex._ And you're aroused— it's been a while, for you.”

“Sometimes,  _mind_ is more than  _dick._ M' evolved, you know.”

“Is that what you call it?” Obi-Wan scoffed, but he almost sounded amused through the vexation.

“Frip yourself,” Anakin mumbled, helpfully. Presumably the man's hand worked. Might even have some of those toys he mentioned, Obi-Wan had  _options._

How did Anakin's twins look, cuddled in cribs? Did each have one, or did they resent being parted even that much? The Force bond between the two was astonishing already in its strength. Maybe they shared one crib, curled up asleep side by side.

Did Padmé dress them in matching outfits? Or...  _outfits that matched hers?_

Oh, gods, who was changing their  _diapers?_

_I'd change diapers, if you'd just let me come home._

Obi-Wan seemed to be jerking off, rather desperately. Poor bastard. He didn't have a Padmé. Anakin didn't either, anymore, and it wasn't—

“You are _pointless_ ,” Obi-Wan grumbled, through his efforts.

_Pretty much._

Anakin closed his eyes and just let the somewhat warm feeling he felt somewhere, though certainly not in his empty, aching heart... cradle him and draw him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan came, hissed at the mess and how unsatisfactory it was.

For a long moment he simply sat there, back against the bed, staring at Vader.

Who appeared asleep.

Prodding with the Force proved the suspicion.

Unbelievable.

Obi-Wan wanted to feel insulted, but found himself just a little amused. Yes, Vader had actually  _fallen asleep_ while Obi-Wan was begging to be fripped and desperately pleasuring himself  _right there._ Given the look of the first bottle, Anakin certainly hadn't taken enough to knock him out cold.

There was a heartache he was nursing as much as any dose of alcohol, and it wrapped around Vader like a cloak.

And—

Yes. Vader was drooling into the carpet, since his lips were parted, just a bit.

Obi-Wan's first impression of Vader had been that he'd been different from any of the people Obi-Wan knew and had been fripped by.

That opinion was only stronger than ever  _now._

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

When Anakin woke up, he discovered he hadn't been abandoned in the night.

There was a blanket drawn over him, a washcloth beneath his mouth for— aw, _ew—_ drool, and the bottles of wine were gone.

Other than these obvious changes, Obi-Wan was nowhere to be seen.

Until the harem came prowling out of Anakin's refresher, toweling off his hair.

Anakin sat up and scowled.

Obi-Wan was naked again. Or  _still,_ might be the better word.

And Anakin's bed had clearly been slept in.

Anakin was about to grumble about that when a being stepped  _through the fripping mirror,_ and into the room. He had hooves, crimson markings on a stark pale face, and glowing red eyes.

Obi-Wan's posture immediately changed. He sank to his knees, his head bent to the side, as if offering up his throat.

“Are you the one?” the man asked, his voice oddly echoing, and staring straight at Anakin.

_I think I'm rather done with this place._ “The one  _what_ ?”  
“Hmm.” The man turned to Obi-Wan while Anakin scrabbled to his feet. “And you, whore? Do  _you_ think him Chosen?”

“Sidious and Plagueis do.” Obi-Wan still did not look up, and his tone was respectful.

The man chuckled, bent over and took Obi-Wan's jaw in his hand, turning Obi-Wan's eyes up to meet his. “I did not ask about them. You see the universe differently. You want what you want, and not even hatred dissuades you from pursuing your desires. There is a purity of darkness within you that the others cannot even dream of.”

The man straightened up, keeping his grip on Obi-Wan's chin, which drew the much,  _much_ shorter man to his feet, not quite graceful. Certainly not with the grace the newcomer exuded like a perfume.

“So tell me, beloved of the darkness, is he the Chosen One?”  
Anakin's blood turned stone cold.

“I do not believe in such things,” Obi-Wan replied. His quiescent cock was filling, though. “Beloved, you say?”

“The darkness has a will of its own,” was the whispered reply. “The so-called lords wish to bend it to their wills, but you, you simply abandon yourself to its caress. Without reserve, without caveat, without seeking reward. You pursue your self with a purity of focus that others, with their grandiose plans, can only perceive to be banal. You could be pursuing the murders of every being who killed your Feemor, but instead you embrace the life you crave, refusing to be chained by your own hate.”

Obi-Wan took a step closer, into the man's space. “Would it please you to show me just how the beloved of the darkness is cherished?”

“The darkness does not cherish, it only takes.”

Obi-Wan tilted his face up, clearly trying to draw attention to his lips as he breathed, “Then take, my king.”  
“I am here for a purpose,” the man replied, but that resolve clearly wavered.

“Pursuit of self and desire, with no care for a farther reaching plan, no time to give to spite, unless it is in itself pleasurable,” Obi-Wan replied.

A smile, sharp fanged and swift broke across the man's features. “I will accept your offering, my whore.”

And then they were kissing, and Obi-Wan wrapped his legs around the visitor's waist, and Anakin had to flee his  _own_ room or bear witness to whatever the two had in mind.

He nearly stumbled into Dooku in the hallway.

“You live,” Tyranus observed.

Anakin scowled. “Did you think Obi-Wan would—”

“The Son is here, undoubtedly to call you to account.”

Anakin's throat went dry. “Obi-Wan distracted him. What do you mean,  _call me to account_ ?”

“I'm sure you'll find out,” Tyranus replied, tone as dry as Anakin's throat.

“Who is this Darth Sun?”  
A chuckle welled up out of Dooku. “He is no Sith. He is perhaps darkness itself given form, perhaps simply one of the last of a very ancient near-immortal species. Either way, he is more powerful than any being you will ever encounter, Skywalker, and his gaze is set on you.”

“You sure about that? He called darkness Obi-Wan's beloved, or something—”

Dooku's eyes widened. “The beloved of the darkness?”

“That's what I said.”

“It most certainly is not.” Dooku looked startled. “For darkness itself to call Obi-Wan  _beloved..._ ”

“'The dark' isn't a person.”

“Oh, it certainly is more than you think. It might even be the man behind that door. A matter of debate. If Obi-Wan truly is the beloved, he will bear the mark on him.”

Dooku turned and walked away.

_I'm beginning to think Sith are even more superstitious than Tatooine residents._

And that was saying quite a bit.

Anakin went to the library, found Sidious on his knees, saber hilts on the floor before him.

He did not appear to be meditating.

“Master?” Anakin asked, not sure what to ask.

“I am waiting, for him to make his appearance.”  
“Might take 'him' a while. He's fripping Obi-Wan.” Why was that an easy thing to say? When had mentioning sex become an easy thing?

“If Obi-Wan truly proved himself in the matter of Krell and Jinn, then he will survive.”

Anakin's heart bolted into his throat. “And if  _not_ ?”  
“Then the Son will accept his willing sacrifice, and then take more than what was offered, leaving him to a lingering death.”

“He claimed he's here to find out if I'm the Chosen One of myth.” Anakin found his anxiety ratcheting up.

“Then let us hope you are indeed the one, my boy. If you are, then the only thing he may wish of you is for you to live.”

Any reply Anakin may have even thought was cut short as sensation and imagery flooded his brain and senses, sending him reeling backwards into the arms of an overstuffed chair.

It seemed to be... the point of view of  _Obi-Wan,_ in the arms of the Son.

Obi-Wan's body seemed twisted with pleasure and something awful, too, something that scared the kark out of Anakin. The Son was taking something from Obi-Wan, something visceral.

Anakin couldn't determine if the Son actually had sexual organs, because if he did, they weren't in play. Obi-Wan was utterly wracked and overcome by  _something,_ though, and his body was certainly reacting in a sexual way.

The Son was in his  _mind,_ the way a cock might thrust in a sheathe. The Son was  _drawing_ something out of Obi-Wan, life force and pleasure, too.

Oh.

The Son was taking Obi-Wan's pleasure, and enjoying it for himself.

And Obi-Wan was utterly lost in that pleasure.

Anakin couldn't tell if something was manipulating Obi-Wan's cock, or if the Son was merely triggering the pleasure centers of Obi-Wan's brain, but whatever it was left Obi-Wan incapable of shielding, and  _somehow_ all of it was funneling straight into Anakin's head.

And cock.

And that wasn't fair. They didn't share a bond.

He didn't... think.

What was happening didn't feel symbiotic. It felt parasitic. It felt like the Son was taking from Obi-Wan, taking  _much,_ taking something Anakin couldn't quite put his finger on. The fact that Obi-Wan was willing, enthusiastic, and receiving a mind-shattering amount of pleasure in return did not make the situation feel  _less_ parasitic.

There was something inherently  _off_ about what was happening.

Anakin didn't really want to be feeling it. It put him on edge, a bitterness on his teeth that left the second-hand pleasure not feeling...  _pleasurable._ Which was a bizarre thing, and very uncomfortable.

 

* * *

 

As a matter of fact, the Son was  _not_ touching Obi-Wan's cock directly. But when Obi-Wan whimpered about wanting to be filled, the Son had certainly obliged by guiding Obi-Wan's fingers into the beloved's rear, and guiding the movements of that wrist.

It was also the Son's hand that guided Obi-Wan's free hand to Obi-Wan's leaking cock.

The Son stole the breath from Obi-Wan's mouth, quite literally, and absorbed the pleasure as well. Obi-Wan abandoned himself to it, and to the Son, with gasps for air that might well have been sobs.

The Son might kill him.

Obi-Wan found in this moment he really, really did not care.

 

* * *

 

“Master... why did you Fall?”

Dooku looked over to where Qui-Gon sat in the windowseat, knees drawn up and feeling just a bit anxious.

Something was happening elsewhere in the house, and Qui-Gon wanted to just hide in Dooku's room indefinitely. Whatever it was that had arrived, was something Qui-Gon never wanted to come in contact with.

And since he wasn't here to spy...

He didn't actually have to.

But that presence unsettled him, left him feeling uneasy and his skin crawling.

“I did not belong with the Jedi anymore,” Dooku replied.

Qui-Gon inspected those golden eyes, then shook his head just slightly. “That would explain why you left the Order. Not why you Fell. Many leave the Order. For love, for weariness, to build a family, to swear an oath to a place or people... and very few of them Fall. You used to value others as much as you value yourself. What changed?”

“I had a good look at the people we were protecting.” Dooku's expression held just a hint of anger, but it wasn't aimed for Qui-Gon. “C'baoth may be pompous, but he is not wrong when he complains that those we protected were ungrateful, whining sycophants.”

Qui-Gon wilted. “You measured yourself against them and decided you were much better?”

“Perhaps not better than all, but certainly better than most; and certainly better than _everyone_ who required the protection of a creature with Force strength. Beings without the Force are blind. How can people so lacking in the greatest source of wisdom _possibly_ know how to govern themselves?”

“So the dictatorship you would suggest is something the peons should be grateful for? They should just let you do all their thinking for them, bow to you, and give up the freedom they don't deserve because they're not Force sensitive?” So much frustration, introduced in Qui-Gon's padawan years, and just building on through the decades since, bubbled to the surface again.

“Always so impertinent,” Dooku murmured. “If you spoke so to Sidious, he would not stand for it.”

“ _Sidious_ has no care for another being whatsoever. All that matters to him is himself.  _You—_ I  _know_ you. You used to care. I don't know where your empathy went, your compassion.” Qui-Gon stared at him, feeling helpless. “For all our fights through the years, I loved and respected you.”

Dooku gave a grave nod. “Past tense, to both?”

“The love remains. I...” Qui-Gon sighed. “I don't know about the respect. Your head seems to have grown several sizes larger since we last talked.”

Dooku scoffed a laugh. “More honest, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon conceded, rather than challenged. “The sneers, the scorn, the disdain... Not everyone is born nobility, not everyone has endless wells of money they did not earn to reach for, not everyone has had the decades of experience to learn from mistakes that you have. It doesn't mean they are  _worth_ any less.”

Xanatos had despised Feemor for being peasant born.

One of the first warning signs.

_To which I never listened._

Xanatos was utterly devoid of empathy, and Qui-Gon did not know if it was an intentional hardening of the young man's heart, or if he simply could not feel it at all.

_But even sociopaths can choose to act with kindness. One simply has to appeal to their brain, not their heart._ _You, my master, are no sociopath. But you are proud and self-important, and the idea that a being can both struggle, have dirt beneath their fingernails, and be a decent person, who deserves life and freedom and the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them..._

The danger of being too intelligent. Too skilled. Too adored. Too powerful. Too disconnected from the people who worked for you.

_He genuinely believes he has more right to life than those he would conquer and force to heel._

“Did you choose to follow me to this house simply to argue with me?” Dooku asked, an eyebrow elegantly arched.

And wasn't that part of the whole problem? Dooku's own elegance cloaked his words with the veil of decency. If it's said politely enough and dusted with an embroidered handkerchief and carried with the grace of a king, then how hideous could the meaning behind the words truly be?

_But the most horrifying of things lurk behind the prettiest exteriors._

The most awful evil never,  _ever_ looked  _bad._

_You looked at people who deserved your pity, people who were sad and miserable beings, and you decided you should determine whether they deserved life, or employment, or freedom._

“I'm not going to stop being me just because I have the least power here,” Qui-Gon murmured. “In spite of my faults, you have always loved me. I suspect you love me still.”

Though... at the rate Dooku was going...

The likelihood of it lasting looked slim.

Self had a way of pushing everything out, when fed enough and left to grow unchecked.

It could be curbed.

But it appeared Dooku had no interest in curbing it at all.

_How long before I become unworthy of life?_

 

* * *

 

When the Son reached Anakin, he had Obi-Wan on his arm. A freshly showered Obi-Wan, clad in black pants that flared gently at the ankle and an almost militarily cut black tunic that hugged him, flaring just a bit at the hip. His lines looked a bit more gentle under their influence, the subtle hint of curves. It walked the line of not quite feminine, but at the same time called far more attention to his ass and the curve of his back and shoulders and calves, than to his cock.

He was barefoot, walked almost on his toes as he clung to the Son.

The sun caught in his hair, making it perhaps auburn, perhaps dark blond, perhaps a fair brown, and his eyes were calm and just a shade vulnerable.

He looked well-fripped, but dainty, at the same time.

As if the Son saw more of him when they were intimate, than in any of the other encounters Obi-Wan had.

And maybe...

That was actually the case.

Maybe that was why Obi-Wan was so quiet, and so reluctant to put even an inch of space between himself and the Son.

“You deny your ancestry,” the Son spoke up without preamble, “but I know what you are. Why did you not Balance the Force when the opportunity presented itself?”

Anakin glanced to Palpatine, but it was clear his mentor would offer no help in this one.

“It wasn't that high on my priority list,” Anakin deadpanned. “I had a wife to save.”

The Son did not look impressed. “You will find the Force does not care for your priorities. It granted you power with the understanding that you would perform a very specific service for it, and defiance will not be tolerated forever. You might carry on for a decade or two or four, but one day the Force will again demand its due, and if you refuse that second time...” the Son shrugged. “You will find it rather... implacable in demanding you return what you borrowed. Power, mind, perhaps even life.”

“The Force  _has_ balance,” Anakin protested. “There are light side users, and dark side users.”

The Son scoffed, brushed a hand over Obi-Wan's head in what was clearly a petting motion. Obi-Wan shuddered, and a soft smile appeared, one that almost looked shy, and the gaze Obi-Wan lifted to the Son's was almost adoring.

Anakin wasn't sure he sensed love, but...

There was something, there. It was uncomfortable to witness.

“Foolish child,” the Son murmured, returning his attention to Anakin once more. “It is not light and dark that are  _out_ of balance, but Cosmic and Living. You seem rather useless, for a being created by the Force itself. I think my sister and I will not expect much from you.” He reached, turned Obi-Wan to face him, and then claimed Obi-Wan's lips in a ravishing kiss that Obi-Wan stood on tiptoe to press into, Obi-Wan's body melting against the Sith, his hands resting softly on bicep and pectoral, Obi-Wan gladly shifting into a feminine role to the Son's masculine.

They looked like they belonged together, but Anakin hated that stray thought when it pinged through his brain unasked.

“Farewell, Beloved,” the Son whispered, pressing a thumb to the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat, and then he was gone.

Not just from the room, but as far as Anakin could sense, from the planet as well.

Obi-Wan swayed just a bit, looking bereft, and then turned to the room's two remaining occupants.

Anakin could see, just below the collar, rested a small, fuzzy mark. When Anakin's gaze tracked around the room, still searching for the Son, the emblem— letter?— seemed clear, so he redirected his attention to it, but it once again blurred to his eyes. A dark marking sheltered by the bones...

“Does the Son love you, then?” Anakin asked, wondering if it was a mark of pairing, or something.

Palpatine stood, the motion betraying painful knees, and sent Anakin a look that made Anakin wonder if he'd asked a dumb question. “The Son loves only his sister. The darkness loves the light, and the light loves the darkness, and they continually break one another's hearts and rip one another apart. There is no peace, and very rarely gentleness, between them. No.  _Beloved_ is a title. One the darkness itself has granted our whore, one the Son merely recognizes because for the Son to deny the will of the darkness would be to deny his very nature.”

“ _Is_ he darkness given form, then?” Anakin asked.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan murmured, “and no. He was once a being. A long lived, very powerful being and certainly not human... but once just a man. But he surrendered himself so fully to the darkness that it is in a sense one with him now. He has become something more. Has lost the identity he once had, and his only identity  _is_ the darkness, his only goals those that the darkness decrees, and in return, his power has only increased.”

“It is not a position to crave, Apprentice,” Palpatine warned. “There would be no room for Vader, for Padmé, for any of your likes and dislikes, hopes or fears or dreams. It would hollow you out and turn you into a vessel.”

_I... wasn't craving_ that  _much power._

But clearly Palpatine thought it a bit of a risk.

Which was fair.

Anakin certainly did crave power.

_But not to go brain dead with it. Holy kark._

Obi-Wan shivered, looking abandoned and miserable. Anakin felt a sudden urge to draw him into his arms, to ward away the misery that hung about Obi-Wan's mind in the Force, much as Obi-Wan tried to shield it.

It was a ridiculous urge.

He did not give in to it.

 


End file.
